


The Empty Locker

by someofthissomeofthat11011



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:50:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someofthissomeofthat11011/pseuds/someofthissomeofthat11011
Summary: Jacques REALLY loves Reeses and Blue devises a plan to make sure Jacques can get some Reeses.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of my swan song (for now). I’ve been splitting my writing between the Simon vs and my book and now I have to focus on my book or I’m never going to finish writing it. And I’m a teacher so I plan to spend this upcoming school year exclusively working on my book and teaching, so this is the last story I’m posting for a while. I want to be upfront: this was gonna be a one-shot and then it kinda got long. Like really long. I promise to update it regularly (my goal is 1-2 chapters a day - I have it all written, I just have to edit each chapter before I post), so if you’re up for it, I hope you enjoy it :)

~ Chapter 1 - The Beginning ~

 

I stare at my phone at the latest email from Blue. This is the fifth time I’m reading the email since I’d first read it this morning and I still expect the words to magically change. I had gotten to school almost ten minutes earlier and Nora had long since left me, but I haven’t been able to make myself budge from my car. It doesn’t make sense to me. Blue is so careful. He would never, not in a million years, try something like this. There is no way that I could have received an email from him telling me that there’s something waiting for me in an abandoned gym locker. 

It is completely impossible, except…

Except, it did come from his email address. And it is a direct response to me joking about how the picture of a Reese’s cup was torture. And the message is Blue through and through - it is just the right amount of nervous and bold. And he’d even sent me the combination for a lock he’d put on it.

And what if he really did have something waiting for me in an empty gym locker? What if he feels the same way I do and is ready for more, but isn’t ready to know who I am? Why is it so impossible that he wants to give me something? On at least a dozen occasions, I’d thought about how I’d like to get him something related to our emails or get him something just because it reminded me of him. Why can’t that be true for him as well?

Suddenly, there is a loud knock on my window. I jump a nearly foot in the air and it takes me a minute to calm myself down. Nick is standing outside my car and I hastily roll down my window. “We were worried you got lost,” he says dryly. “Nora came in over ten minutes ago and said that you were sulking.”

“Sorry. I’m not sulking. Just working on some homework,” I supply lamely. I can tell from the arch of Nick’s eyebrows that he isn’t buying it.

“You’re gonna be late to class.” Nick shrugs. We don’t really talk about our feelings, which usually works for us. It definitely works right now, because I am not ready to talk about this.

I force myself out of my car and follow Nick into the school. The first half of my day is complete agony. I can’t wait to get to gym class. Even if it turns out that Blue is playing some kind of cruel joke on me, I can’t wait one more second to find out. But it feels like all of my teachers are talking slower than usual and are intentionally making class slow and tedious. Even chemistry, which is 99% mixing dangerous substances and trying not to unintentionally blow up the classroom, is freaking boring today. Mr. Olly stands up front and talks about the appropriate use of chem lab equipment. During lunch, Leah gives up on trying to talk to me and spends most of the period glaring at me to make me feel guilty. If I could think about anything but Blue and whatever is waiting in the locker, it probably would have worked.

I actually arrive in the locker room before any of my other classmates because Madame Blanc releases us from French early. It saves me the anxiety of having to look nonchalant as I open a locker that doesn’t belong to me.

Even if I hadn’t memorized the locker number, I wouldn’t have had trouble finding it. It’s the old locker of Casey Kramer, a junior who was rumored to have gotten arrested for working for a drug cartel… or for beating someone up… or quite possible armed robbery. The story is different every time I hear it, so I’m not sure what the truth is. I just know that the police had taken Casey out of his History class about a month ago and he’d never come back. The police had returned the next day to empty out his locker and no one seems to know what happened after that.

There is a brand new, shiny lock on the small locker. I am surprised to see that Casey had one of the bread box lockers - they they are these really small lockers that are just big enough to fit a pair of shoes, pants, and a shirt. Everyone used to have a breadbox locker and there were larger lockers in the aisles of the locker room that we could put our stuff in during class. The locker room had been renovated over the summer, but they hadn’t finished, so most juniors and seniors had the new, normal sized lockers while freshmen and sophomores had the tiny bread box lockers.

I can feel my heart beating in my chest as I approach the locker. I’d memorized the combination, but I am suddenly second guessing how I am supposed to open a lock.

When I finally get it open, there is a brown paper bag sitting in the locker. Weirdly, my first thought is that it must be full of drugs that Casey left behind, but I almost immediately dismiss that. If Casey had gotten arrested for drugs, I am sure that someone would have searched the locker long before today. My second thought is that if  these are drugs then if they belong to anyone, it is Blue. I briefly entertain myself with the thought of Blue, who doesn’t even swear in our emails, stowing drugs in a locker. I think it is more likely that Elvis is alive than that Blue has anything to do with drugs.

I grab the bag, hide it in my gym clothes, and take refuge in a bathroom stall. I stare at the paper bag for a full minute before I muster the courage to open it.

Inside is a piece of paper and a small bag of mini Reese's cups. I can’t help but stare. I had totally been joking when I asked Blue if he could send me some Reese’s over the internet but somehow that had been enough for Blue to have actually gotten me some in real life. It makes me feel warm and flushed.

I feel like my heart is swelling. One of the gym teachers comes through to give us the one minute warning and I know I’m not going to have time to read the note. I look at my gym clothes, then back at the paper bag, then back at my gym clothes. Then I make up my mind. 

There is no way that I am going to sit through forty minutes of gym class without knowing what is in this note. I can barely get through gym class on a good day. Plus, I can deal with the two point loss to my grade. It will totally be worth it. I throw my gym clothes back in my locker, carefully tuck the paper bag into my backpack, and hitch my bag over my shoulder.

I go out to join my classmates and once Mr. Kelly notices I’m unprepared, I am sent to the library to do an alternative assignment. I guess that he must be in a pretty good mood (or I’m noticeably a mess), because usually we just have to take the hit to our grade if we aren’t dressed. 

I'd been unprepared once in September and I'd had to sit in the bleachers and watch my classmates play wiffle ball. Mr. Kelly had told me to think about the impact my ‘lack of preparation for class’ would have on my classmates. My takeaway was that instead of awkwardly standing in the outfield and doing nothing, I was awkwardly sitting in the bleachers and doing nothing. I also noticed that while Garrett may be athletic, he couldn’t hit a wiffle ball in motion for the life of him. I didn’t understand how he could be so good at soccer and so bad at wiffle ball.

I try to look contrite as Mr. Kelly writes me a pass for the library. I can do some silly assignment for him. It will take me maybe five minutes.

I find myself sitting in the very back corner of the library less than ten minutes later. My completed assignment on the benefits of cardiovascular exercise is in my bag and the note from Blue is resting on my bent knee.

I don’t know what it is, but I can’t bring myself to open it. I had managed to convince myself that Blue isn’t giving me Reeses to soften the blow of a breakup… if it would technically even be called that, but I’m still nervous to read the note. Another ten minutes pass as I stare at my name written on the front of the note. I keep staring. And staring. And staring.

I feel like I am having a serious debate with myself over something that should be pretty simple. The thing is, once I open it, whether it bears good or bad news, I will never be able to unknow what is inside. My mind is spinning with possibilities. 

Maybe he is ready to meet. My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought. I want to know who he is so badly that sometimes it’s the only thought that my head is capable of thinking, but at the same time I definitely don’t want to know who he is. The different sides of my brain are pretty much in constant battle over it.

I guess that maybe I am dying to know more about Blue, but I’m not ready to know that Blue is real yet. It’s kind of like right now, we are in this magical place where I can tell him anything. What if when I find out who he is, that magic is gone and he ends up being someone that I actually can’t stand in real life? No, it’s definitely safer over email. If that’s what’s inside his note, I don’t know what I’ll do. I have to remind myself that Blue didn’t feel comfortable telling me what his Halloween costume would be. There’s no way he’s ready to freaking meet… right?

Or maybe he wrote me a poem. I know he is poetic because of his post from August and I blush at the thought of what he could write in a poem. 

Or maybe he just wrote ‘enjoy’. It doesn’t necessarily need to be this long, heartfelt note. We do send emails back and forth almost every day. It is actually bordering on obsession how often we talk for two people that don’t know each other… well, we don’t know each other’s names. I like to think I know Blue pretty well.

I groan and shift so my legs are flat on the ground. My legs are almost long enough to reach the shelf across from me. I distract myself for a minute by imagining sitting in here with Blue one day. I bet his legs would reach all the way across the aisle. Maybe we’d intentionally bump knees or even sit side by side and hold hands and do all that couplely stuff that I pretend makes me sick. Maybe he would try to convince me that the crap we read in English is good by reading it aloud to me. I don’t think it would sound nearly as bad coming from him. 

I don’t want to let go of the image, but reluctantly I force myself to. I know if I don’t focus and open it, I’m not going to and whatever is in the letter will remain a mystery that will haunt me forever. Or maybe I am being dramatic. My mom’s told me that being part of the play has brought out some of my more theatrical tendencies… whatever that means.

I brace myself as I unfold the note.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ Happy (belated) Halloween! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and Reese’s. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me want to take risks. It’s entirely terrifying, but it makes me feel like I’m actually living. Does that make any sense? When you asked if it was possible to send Reese's over the internet, I realized that I wanted to do something for you. We may not be actually dating, but I really like you and I want to show you that. _

_ So, I’m breaking my contractual obligation to eat ALL of our leftover Reese’s from Halloween and decided to give some to you. When I was putting this together, I thought about symbolism and how to make a bag of Reese’s more symbolic and you may notice that there are red, orange, and gold wrapped Reese’s, so here’s what I’ve got for you: _

_ There are 10 red-wrapped Reese’s and 3 orange-wrapped Reese’s in the bag. By the time you read this, did you know that it will have been ten weeks and three days ago that I sent you our first email (assuming you actually check the locker on Tuesday)? It’s so weird to me. I feel like it was just yesterday and at the same time I feel like I’ve known you forever. I feel like August 23rd is an anniversary of sorts for us. I remember pacing my room for hours while I debated whether or not I was actually going to email you. I did the same thing last night as I was writing this note. I went back and forth. Do I write it or is it too much? And even as I write it, I am second guessing everything. But I decided that I am definitely going through with this, because that very first email worked out better than I ever could have imagined, so maybe this will too. _

_ There is one gold-wrapped Reese’s and that’s because there’s only one you. And I’m pretty lucky to have found the one and only you. _

_ I may have lied when I told you I wasn’t such an abuser of metaphors, similes, and symbolism, but you still like me, right?I hope these Reeses are more satisfactory than the picture I sent you and I hope you think of me when you eat them. Or not. It’s up to you. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I can practically feel myself hyperventilating. It isn’t the message or the fact that Blue wants me to think about him while I am eating the Reese's, though both of those things are definitely making my overactive imagination kick into overdrive. It is the Love, Blue. Love. Maybe it means nothing. People sign notes all the time saying love when they aren’t really in love with the person.

But he’d never done it before. I have no idea if Blue is actually going to check the locker again, but I have to assume that he’ll retrieve the lock at some point and I have to try. There is no way I can wait until after play practice to write down everything that is going through my head. I pull out a piece of paper and a pen. I feel like I’m going to throw up or like I’m going to scream really loudly as this energy bubbles out of me. I’m in the library, so I can’t exactly scream and get it out that way, so I settle for the next best thing. With a shaky hand, I write:

 

_ Blue, _

_ I think I know what you mean about feeling like you’re actually living. It’s kind of like this adrenaline that courses through me when I’m writing an email to you or right now when I’m writing this note - who ever would have guessed that we’d be anonymously passing notes back and forth during school? But it makes everything seem sharper and it makes me feel like I’m living life, not just watching it pass by. _

_ I was unprepared for gym class so that I would be able to read your note and let me tell you, after reading it: So. Freaking. Worth. It. _

_ Thank you so much for the Reese's. They are absolutely perfect and so is the meaning behind them. I can’t believe it’s been ten weeks already! This is going to sound like the freaking corniest cliche ever, but you seriously make time fly. _

_ Love, Jacques _

_ P.S. And FYI - I don’t like you DESPITE your overuse of similes and metaphors, I like you BECAUSE of it. That’s actually one of the things I like best about you. _

 

I fold my note and lean back against the bookshelf. I put a Reese's in my mouth, close my eyes, and try to conjure up an image of Blue. I’d thought that Cal Price was Blue pretty much since I started talking to him, but one of the few things I know about Cal is that he doesn’t take gym class. He takes some health and anatomy elective that gets him out of it. I'd thought he was a freaking genius when I’d first found that out, but his stroke of brilliance means that he never steps foot in the locker room - something he’s actually bragged about.

I expect to feel disappointed that my only lead didn’t work out and I guess I do feel a little frustrated that I am back to square one, but I’m not that upset. I feel like the thing that appealed to me about Cal was that he could be Blue and now that I know he isn’t, most of that appeal is gone. I mean, there’s no denying that Cal is cute and all. But he’s not Blue.

I like to imagine that Blue is this insanely cute guy and I’m pretty sure I’ll think he’s cute no matter what. He will be tall and I can’t shake the idea that he has the same blue-green eyes as Cal. What else could his email address mean?

I am still leaning against the bookshelf with the bag of Reese’s in my lap when the librarian comes to find me to let me know I need to get back to the gym. She chews me out for a solid three minutes about how I’m not allowed to eat food in the library before she lets me leave. It was literally a single Reese’s so I think she completely overreacted.

I practically run to get back to the gym and even then, everyone is in the locker room by the time I walk in. I’d been hoping to get back early, so that obviously worked out really well.

Once I realize I won't be the first one back, I take my time as I turn my assignment in to Mr. Kelly so that I can try to be the last to leave. It doesn’t work. I idle by the lock as I wait for the bell to ring. It doesn’t look like anyone is looking towards me, so I turn the lock, pretend I am supposed to be opening this locker, and slip my note inside.

Not one person notices that I’m not supposed to be going in this locker. I guess that is the only good thing about the boys’ locker room, and one of the really bad things. I could have totally been breaking into a random locker to steal stuff and no one noticed. Most of the guys in the locker room have this tunnel vision when it comes to changing. They change, line up to leave, and avoid eye contact like it’s the plague. The ones that don’t have that tunnel vision are too busy making up these ridiculous stories, stories that I am 99% sure never actually happened, to pay any attention to what I am doing.

By the way they talk, you’d think these kids slept with almost every girl in the school, live above the law, and self-identify as rugged, emotionless daredevils (I don’t know who they’re trying to convince, because I’ve seen Kevin tear up over The Lion King). The way they talk about girls usually bothers me. I may be gay and may know next to nothing about what sex with girls would be like, but most of what they say just seems ridiculous. 

Plus, I’d mentioned something to Leah our freshman year and she had gotten pretty pissed about it. She’d gone on a tirade about how that was exactly what was wrong with society. Nick had just kind of looked at me like I'd broken some unspoken rule by telling Leah about it. And maybe I had. Being a guy in high school should really come with a manual.

I am nervous and jittery that night. I have no idea whether Blue will actually see the note or whether it will still be sitting in the locker tomorrow when I get to class. I power through my Algebra homework, silently cursing my teacher for giving us so many problems to do and cursing Blue for making it so impossible to get through a single problem without thinking of him. It is almost midnight by the time I finish my homework and I immediately crawl into bed.

When I wake up, my very first thought is of Blue. I consider sending him an email to tell him I’d put something in the locker, but I had already responded to his last email and I don’t want to seem clingy.

I don’t step foot in the locker room on Wednesday because we are doing emergency response drills during gym class. We do school wide evacuation and lockdown drills every month, but the ones during gym class are a lot more in depth. We go over a bunch of different ways that we can get to safety if some type of emergency comes up while we are in between classes or in the bathroom or somewhere like that. We are all over the school for these drills: in the cafeteria, the library, the auditorium. I understand why we do the drills the way we do. I know it’s a good thing to be prepared in case something happens in between classes or in a class like gym. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing they’d picked a different day. Literally any other day would have been perfect. Then again, there’s something immensely satisfying about being able to watch a bunch of guys dressed as cheerleaders do various drills. I think I can really appreciate the sports at Creekwood High now.

There isn’t anything in the locker the next day. I remind myself that that is a good thing. It means Blue definitely got my note. Plus, I know Blue is really serious about school, which probably means he isn’t willing to be unprepared for gym class. Tomorrow, I’d definitely hear from him tomorrow.

And even if I don’t hear from him, we still have our emails. That is constantly on my mind as I wait for gym class the next day. I’ve never looked forward to gym class before. I always feel really self-conscious, because I’m not nearly as athletic or coordinated as some of the other kids in my class. Now, I can’t wait to get there. As French drags on and on, I feel like I am jumping out of my skin. Madame Blanc is going on about conjugations and thank God that Abby is taking notes next to me, because my piece of paper is blank. It doesn’t help that Blue hasn’t responded to my email from Tuesday yet either. It is becoming really freaking hard to convince myself that Blue isn’t trying to drop me.

When there is nothing in the locker, I feel like my stomach is in knots. No email. No note. And he’d definitely gotten it. I can’t think of a single rational reason for him to not have acknowledged me.

Nick catches me while I am waiting for Nora after school and convinces me to go to homecoming with him. I know he wants to go because of Abby and if I don’t say yes, I also know he’ll call me out on sulking. That is not a conversation I am going to have with him right now, so I agreed. I am pretty sure that if Leah is pissed at me from lunch this week, she is going to throw a fit when we tell her we’re not sticking to our WaHo tradition, so I let Nick know he is responsible for breaking the news to her.

I had expected to be excited at the prospect of being in the same place as Blue - I am almost positive he is here, because he’d said he was looking forward to homecoming. But the thought just makes me more grumpy with him. I’d rather be at Waffle House with Leah. At least she’s more distracting than football. Nick invites me over after homecoming, but I decide to go straight home. It is probably childish, but I feel like I deserve a couple hours of uninterrupted moping. I don’t sleep much that night, because my brain won’t let me sleep - it keeps concocting different reasons that Blue would want nothing to do with me. 

I don’t leave my room much on Saturday. Every time someone checks on me, I tell them I am doing homework, which is technically the truth. I had gotten a ridiculous amount of homework on Friday and I’m slowly making my way through it. I’m not usually very good at multitasking, but it turns out I can be miserable about Blue and miserable about homework at the same time. I am only moderately ashamed to admit that I spent most of Saturday moping and furiously refreshing my email until my computer dings.

 

_ FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com  _

_ TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 8 at 9:57 PM _

_ SUBJECT: My throat hurts... _

_ And I’m so sorry that it’s been such a long time since I wrote you. I checked the locker after school on Wednesday, but I never had the chance to give you my response because when I woke up on Thursday, I felt kind of sick. Sick enough that I stayed home from school - I NEVER stay home from school, so it was bad enough that my mom made the executive decision that I was staying home. By Friday, I felt like my throat had decided to become a cactus. I couldn’t talk because it hurt so bad and I could barely breathe. The worst part was that my mom had already left for work by the time I woke up. It’s funny, because I sometimes get frustrated that she treats me like a little kid, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do. The doc said that I’ll stop being contagious within 24 hours, which hopefully means I’ll be back in school on Monday. It’s all gonna depend on this fever - it hasn’t gotten worse which is good, but it also hasn’t gotten better which is bad. Maybe it’s the fever, but I had this nightmare this afternoon… I’ll spare you the details, but I just needed to make sure you weren’t gonna disappear on me. _

_ How have your last few days been? Better than mine, I hope. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

My heart is thumping and I feel this strange tingly feeling throughout my body that I can only describe as the sudden realization that I’ve been obsessing over an irrational and unwarranted fear. I grin to myself and only feel partially guilty about feeling so wonderful when Blue’s had such a bad few days. It sucks that Blue’s been sick and I wouldn’t wish strep on anyone, but honestly, thank freaking God!

I feel like such a child. OF COURSE Blue isn’t over me. It seems so obvious now. It is weird, but I guess because of the whole anonymity thing, I never really considered that human things, like getting sick, might happen to him.

It makes everything feel so much more real and terrifying, but in the best way possible.

 

_ FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 8 at 10:13 PM _

_ SUBJECT: Your throat hurts, huh ;) _

_ I’m sorry to hear you were so sick these last couple of days - I had strep once freshman year. It was horrible! I guess if I really wanted to, that would be a huge clue to find out who you are - don’t worry, I wasn’t paying enough attention to know who was out Thursday and Friday and I wouldn’t do that to you anyway. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better! I hope you’ve had a ton of chicken noodle soup. I remember how seriously my mom took the only-soft-foods rule. I had a 24 hour supply of pudding, ice cream, and soup. It was the only upside to being sick. _

_ Speaking of those drills on Wednesday - could they have picked a weirder day to do them? I don’t think I’ll ever get the image out of my head of one of these buff soccer players pretending to climb out a window in a cheerleading outfit. Don’t worry Blue, that’s not what I meant when I said I was going to oggle at some cheerleaders during homecoming.  _

_ I’m kind of curious now, what happened in this nightmare? In the future, you should exclusively stick to dreaming only happy things about me. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I lean back in my chair after I press send. Maybe it’s the relief that he’s isn’t gone from my life or the fact that my brain kept me up most of the night, but I fall asleep right after I press send and don’t wake up until almost noon. 

When I wake up, I feel groggy. I had gotten way too much sleep, which I think is worse than too little sleep. I briefly wonder if I am getting sick, but I push that thought from my mind. Just because Blue was sick, doesn’t mean I’m going to get sick as well. This isn’t the kind of virus I can catch from emailing with Blue. I am just tired. 

I spend most of my day trying not to fall asleep, but I still find myself dozing off over the creeksecrets page. Around 8, I decide to call it a day. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open another minute, but I check my email before I go to sleep.

Blue freaking emailed me back. At 1pm. And I’m only seeing it now. What the hell had I been doing all day?

_ FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com  _

_ TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 9 at 1:16 PM _

_ SUBJECT: From the strep… mind out of the gutters _

_ I guess that could have been a pretty big clue. I appreciate you not trying to look into that, but if I’m being honest, I think I’m almost getting ready for you to know who I am. I don’t know where you’re at with that and I’ll wait as long as you need, but as I was thinking about getting you Reese's and I was rereading our emails… the idea of knowing who you are didn’t seem so terrifying. I’m not ready yet, but I think I’m getting there.  _

_ My mom is pretty health-conscious, so I’ve had a lot of soup these last few days. She’s one of those moms that has a ‘super secret recipe’ for chicken soup that has been passed down from generation to generation - she says her grandma swore by it. It’s not bad, and I feel bad saying this, but I’m more of a Campbell’s chicken noodle soup person. And not even the good Campbell’s chicken soup with flavor and veggies. I like the one that’s broth, noodle, and chicken. I know, I know. It should be really disgusting, but I don’t know what it is. I used to be obsessed with it when I was a kid. Unfortunately, we were all out, so I only had the super secret recipe all weekend. Not that I’m not grateful - I really am! _

_ I have to admit, I don’t know how to feel about the guys dressed like cheerleaders on Wednesday. I think part of me is jealous - who is this mystery guy that turned your head? - but part of me gets it. It was kind of surreal to see so many guys dressed so provocatively. _

_ Well… it sounds so silly now. I don’t remember most of it - isn’t it weird how that happens with dreams? I could recall every detail when I first woke up, but now it’s mostly gone. I just remember that at the end, you started dating Michael Angelakos and you were like ‘you should have told me you were sick Blue.’ I woke up convinced that if I didn’t talk to you right then, I would never talk to you again. It sounds even weirder now, but at the time, it made complete sense to me. It’s official, I blame the fever. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

The next day, I stop at the locker before lunch with my first gift for Blue tucked safely into my bag. It’s not much. I had gotten to Publix about five minutes before it closed, but I’d managed to get Blue the soup he loves so much. I felt really bad, because the guy manning the register looked like he wanted nothing more than to close up and he had to wait for me. I’d feel worse, but I’m pretty sure this classified as an emergency. I short note rests on top of the soup. I’d gone back and forth about what to write, but it all sounded too corny or cliche, so I’d settled on:

 

_ Michael’s got nothing on you. _

 

When I slip it into the locker, I notice a piece of paper in there. I feel a wave of exhilaration and I’m not sure why at first. But then I realize that this feels so much more personal. It’s not just emails coming through my computer. Blue has stood in this exact spot and he’s put notes and gifts in this locker. I have a feeling something is changing between us. Something good. No. Something freaking great.


	2. Ready or Not

~ Chapter 2 - Ready or Not ~

 

I nearly have a heart attack as I enter the cafeteria because when I feel my pocket for the note, it’s not there. I quickly check every single pocket in my pants. Just as I’m about to go into panic mode, I see it on the floor right outside the cafeteria. I put it in my bag after that, because I don’t want to risk it falling out of my pocket and into the wrong hands. I already have this whole fiasco with Martin, I’m not willing to experience a part 2 of that. And while I haven’t been able to identify Blue from the things we talk about, someone else might be able to. 

When I get to our lunch table, Garrett’s making a big deal about Bram being back. I had forgotten, but Bram had been sick on Thursday and Friday too - it seems half the school had been out and I apparently didn’t even notice. On any other day, I would have been goofing off with Garrett and Nick, but thinking about Bram being back just makes me think about Blue being back and the note that’s taunting me from my bag.

When I get to French class, I pull out the note and position it so that Abby cannot read it. Not that I think she would intentionally read my note, but I’m not willing to take the chance. I read through it three times before I remember that he wrote it before we emailed this weekend.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ That’s exactly it! I guess sometimes I feel like I’m holding myself back, but when I talk to you, I don’t feel that as much. I feel like I’m ‘living life, not just watching it pass by.’ That was a beyond perfect way of describing it - and you say I’m the one with words. I have to admit. I wasn’t expecting you to write back, but I was happy to see you had. I hope we can continue doing this. It’s like an adrenaline rush, knowing we have a way of talking at school. _

_ Love, Blue _

_ P.S. I miss you like crazy. My mom wouldn’t let me go to school yesterday or today and all I can think about is how you won’t see this note until next week. This morning I dreamed that you were here to take care of me. You looked a lot like Harry Potter in my dream, which I thought would make you smile. :) _

_ P.P.S. Do you believe that two people can fall in love over email or by passing notes during school? I didn’t think I believed that, but I’m starting to wonder. If you find that weird, I blame it on my fever. _

 

I actually laugh out loud in a nervous way which attracts a lot of stares. I feel myself turn red and quickly hide the note in case Madame Blanc decides to come see what made me laugh. She’s the kind of teacher that will read aloud any notes you pass in class. Because she uses English and french interchangeably, it’s often hilarious. But I have a feeling it would be less hilarious if she were reading this. “Something funny Mr. Spier?” She asks.

“Not at all,” I assure her. I try to look contrite and I think I succeed, because she goes back to the notes she is giving us. 

I don’t know whether to be grateful for fever high Blue or whether that ruins everything. I realize that it probably depends on my reaction to his note. I immediately start writing. It’s a good thing we’re supposed to be taking notes, because no one notices I’m doing something out of the ordinary.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I hope you understand that you never need to hold yourself back with me.  _

_ I guess first things first. I love that you had a dream about me and that I looked like Harry Potter. I once told my friends that my glasses made me look like him, so you have no idea how exciting it was to hear that that’s how you picture me. Plus, there’s the badass wizard component, so I’m flattered. _

_ I feel like you’re the one person I can really be myself and I really hope you feel the same way, because I have to be honest with you about something. I think you were so freaking brave to tell me all that. You inspire me in so many ways, but especially with your courage at putting yourself out there. So that’s what I’m trying to do now. Sorry, I blame you. Over email, I can proofread and shit, but I can’t do that here so you’re meeting an entirely ungrammatical Jacques (I’m not stalling, shut up). Here goes nothing: I am not ready to think about things like falling in love. I don’t want it to stop, but I want you to know where I’m at. I’m not saying it’s off the table, I just need a little more time to figure out what this is. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I just want to take things slow. This is new territory for both of us and I want to be sure of how I feel before I say it. Because you deserve nothing less. _

_ I’m so sorry and I really hope you don’t hate me. _

_ -Jacques _

 

I can’t bring myself to sign it ‘Love, Jacques’. I am pretty sure I love Blue, like 99.9% sure, but I’d once been 99.9% sure that Cal Price was Blue, so I knew better than to trust myself. I also don’t know if I am just in love with the idea of having a boy to love; I don’t know how to figure that out and until I am 100% sure, I do not want to lead him on.

I don’t realize most of my classmates have packed up until the bell rings and I end up being late to gym. I have to rush to get dressed, so I do not have the chance to put my note in the locker.

Class lasts forever. We’ve been doing track and field for weeks, and I’m not sure what the field part means but I am becoming way too familiar with the track part. I don’t understand why so much time is dedicated to this. It’s literally running. We aren’t even doing events with hurdles or anything like that, because Mr. Kelly doesn’t trust us not to hurt ourselves. Granted, Meghan Lewis managed to break her arm when we were playing table tennis, so he might have a point.

Finally, we return to the locker room and change back into our regular clothes. I am tapping my hand against my thigh as I look at the note in front of me. Before I can second guess myself too much, I put it in the locker and get in line to leave. It may change everything, but I need to be honest with him.

I don’t know when Blue will check it, but I hope it’s sooner rather than later. It would be actual torture to have to wait long. But maybe it’ll be better if he waits, because I’m pretty sure that he’s not gonne be happy when he sees it. I like to think that if I got that type of note from Blue, I’d be this mature, hybrid Simon, but that’s complete BS. I would probably get weird with him. But Blue is actually mature, so maybe he won’t make it weird.

I feel like my head is somewhere else during play practice. It’s a really good thing I don’t have a speaking part, because I can’t imagine how much worse my performance would be if I had to remember lines. It’s so bad, Ms. Albright starts exclusively practicing scenes I’m not in. 

I take refuge in the corner of the auditorium and distract myself from the drama that is my life by looking at pictures of Bieber. I probably would have made it to the end of play practice with my sanity intact if it weren’t for Martin Addison.

He approaches me on his five minute break. “Hey,” he says as he shuffles. I nod, but don’t acknowledge him otherwise. He’s on my shit list on a good day and this is not a good day. I get a weird feeling in my stomach every time I think about pushing Abby and Martin together, so I try to avoid thinking about it when possible. It isn’t even the idea of trying to force her to like him - and I know from experience you cannot make yourself like someone; if you could, I’d probably still be with Anna or Carys - or the fact that Nick is head over heels in love with her that’s sitting with me wrong. It’s the fact that he’s resorted to blackmail to get what he wants. Abby deserves better than that. “Look, I really don’t want to do this, but we had an agreement. So are you going to help me or not?”

“Why don’t you help yourself?” I snap. Maybe I’m channeling my frustration into him, but I don’t care.

“What?” Martin asks. He sounds taken aback. “Who pissed in your Cheerios today?” I ignore him and look down at the floor. “Okay. I get it. Everyone has bad days. I just want to know when you’re gonna get a move on it. It’s been over four weeks and I’ve barely had a conversation with her.” I’m tempted to tell him what I’m thinking which is that I will never get a move on it because he’s a complete fucking asshole. Instead, I shrug and look back at the picture of Bieber I left off on. I took it a few weeks ago when Bieber managed to get three tennis balls in his mouth at the same time. It kind of made him look like a grinning chipmunk. He just looked so proud of himself. “I don’t believe this. What the hell is wrong with you today? Look, I don’t want to leak your emails-” That’s about the fucking funniest thing I’ve ever heard. If he didn’t want to leak my emails, he wouldn’t be freaking blackmailing me.

“Bull shit,” I say loudly. A little too loudly, because I see a few people turn to stare at us. Martin looks taken aback. Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I jump to my feet, grab my bag from backstage, and leave.

I know if I’m not going to help Martin, then I need to tell Blue that we might get outed, but I can’t bring myself to think about it, especially not now. If I tell Blue about Martin, I know Blue will freak out and disappear and I’m already scared enough that he’s gonna do that without adding Martin to the mix. That’s why I haven’t come out and told Martin I’m not going to help him. It’s not just that I don’t want to lose Blue, I can’t lose him. He’s the only one that gets me.

I’m still in a crappy mood when I get home and I go straight to my bedroom. I tell my parents I have too much homework to eat dinner with them. Fifteen minutes later when my mom brings me a plate of food, I am still staring at the same page of my Algebra textbook. I’m not a bad student and while I am an expert procrastinator, I always get my homework done before it’s due. But right now, it seems freaking impossible.

I decide to come back to it. I have to write a short essay for English and find a current event for History. Even as distracted as I am, I manage to do both of those. I pull up my email, not really expecting there to be anything in my inbox, and I nearly fall out of my desk chair when I see an email from Blue.

 

_ FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com  _

_ TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 10 at 3:02 PM _

_ SUBJECT: Your note _

_ Jacques, _

_ On a whim, I checked our locker afterschool. I read your note and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to respond to you. Have you ever felt like something is consuming you so much that it’s the only thing that exists? Since I read your note, all I can think about is how much we need to talk about this.  _

_ I didn’t meant to make you uncomfortable. And I promise, I’m not upset. I’m really grateful that you could be honest with me. You are the only person that I can say anything to and if being anonymous means that I get to be that person for you, then anonymity still has a purpose. _

_ I feel like this was some major role reversal. Aren’t you supposed to be the one that makes me uncomfortable by hinting that you want to meet me? If you don’t mind my asking, what changed? You never came right out and said it, but I thought you implied it in some of your emails. I thought you wanted to meet (if I read too much into that, I’m sorry). _

_ We can go as slow as you need to. Maybe it was the fever… I don’t know. The last thing I want is for you to feel pressured. I really value that we can talk the way we do and I don’t want to lose you. I could never hate you Jacques. You’re really important to me and if you ever feel like we’re moving too fast, all you need to do is say so. _

_ Love, Blue _

_ P.S. Thanks for the soup! _

 

I’m a horrible person. That’s all there is to it. I suck. He’s right. I’m the one that was always joking about knowing names and asking to know more about each other. Right before homecoming, I’d even asked Blue what he’d be wearing for Decades Day. And I constantly think about what Blue looks like and who he might be, but I hadn’t actually meant to find out. Or maybe I had. I can’t even begin to work through my confusing emotions. 

I slam my laptop shut. I have no idea what to say to this. Why couldn’t he be a freaking jerk about it? Then my response would be easy. But no.

I try to sleep, hoping that it will help me figure out what to say, but my brain has apparently decided that sleep is unnecessary. My brain freaking thinks up about a hundred worst case scenarios between me and Blue; all of which seem completely rational and possible at 3am. Around 4, I give up on trying to sleep and pull up my email.

 

_ FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 11 at 4:27 AM _

_ SUBJECT: Re: Your note _

_ Blue, _

_ I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. Have you ever been so nervous about something that your brain goes ‘Hey, what if you do that and this horrible, really unlikely thing happens?’ And then you can’t stop thinking that’s a possibility, even though you never considered that it could happen in the first place? _

_ That’s what happened to me tonight. I wanted to sleep on it before I responded to this so I could be sure of what I need to say, but my mind went through scenario after scenario of all the bad things that could happen if I tell you the truth. And now it’s almost 4am and I feel like my brain will not let me sleep. _

_ So here’s the thing. I’ve typed and deleted and typed and deleted this so many times and I can’t figure out a way that this won’t make me seem really wishy-washy or childish, so I’m just gonna say it. _

_ I’m sorry for pushing for more in some of our emails. I think I was doing it because I thought nothing would come of it. I didn’t think you were ready, so it felt safe to ask for more when I knew I wasn’t going to get it. I know how bad that sounds and I really didn’t realize that that’s what I was doing until you said you were almost ready for more. Then I realized I wasn’t there yet. Right now, I can talk to you without a filter, because while I know that a real-life human being is going to read this, I don’t know who that person is and you don’t know who I am. It makes me feel like I can be more bold and more honest in our emails. It makes me feel like I can say anything, and as long as you don’t know who I am, I don’t feel nearly as ashamed with myself. _

_ It feels like this huge step and right now, I feel like I will be losing something if I know who you are. I don’t want to feel that way when we finally meet. I want to feel so comfortable with you, that even when there’s a face to an email, we can talk about this stuff. And I do plan on meeting you eventually; I don’t want to talk to you through email and notes at school forever. I want to be able to meet you and hug you and kiss you and have mind-blowing sex with you someday. _

_ And I’m going to be blunt, because I have no freaking clue how to say this in a subtle way. I know that I love you, but I don’t know if I’m in love with you if that makes sense. Like in the way that I love my friends, but I’m definitely not in love with them. I’ve never been in love before and you’re the first guy that I’ve ever talked to like this. You are really important to me so I need to make sure I’m actually in love with you before I say it. I don’t know if I’m jumping the gun on this, but just in case, I need you to know where I’m at. _

_ If this is too much or too weird… do what you need to do. I don’t want to lose you, but I understand that it’s not fair to you if you’re ready for more and I’m not. This may be the longest email I’ve ever written, but everything in here needed to be said. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I don’t hesitate to sign it ‘Love, Jacques’ this time. If I am sure of anything after obsessing over this for hours, it is that I certainly love him. And I’m almost positive that I am in love with him, but I need to be sure before I admit that to myself.

Even after sending the email, I can’t sleep. I toss and turn for over an hour before I grab my phone, put on headphones so I won’t disturb Nora, and let myself get swept away with Elliott Smith. 

I feel like a zombie as I get ready for school. I doubt Blue will respond to me, but that doesn’t stop me from checking once I get out of the shower. Thank God for wishful thinking, because if I hadn’t checked, I probably wouldn’t have noticed that Blue responded until after school. I am surprised and excited and terrified and nervous… and now I think I’m freaking mentally procrastinating. Which is weird because I cannot wait to read this email. Probably because I actually lost sleep over this, but I NEED to know.

 

_ FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com  _

_ TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com _

_ DATE: Nov 11 at 5:38 AM _

_ SUBJECT: Re: Your note _

_ You’re not the only one that couldn’t sleep last night. Your email was really cute and grammatical for four am. Most of what you said… I didn’t realize until you said it that that’s exactly how I feel. _

_ I think I felt like I was going to lose you if I didn’t push for more - I know that sounds silly, but I don’t want our relationship to only happen over email forever and I was worried that if we didn’t do something now, we would never get past this point. It means everything to me that you want to meet eventually. It makes me feel like we can take things slow until we get to the meeting, kissing, and mind-blowing sex part. I like thinking about having sex with you, especially of the mind-blowing variation. I should delete that. I’m not going to. It’s really hard to be remotely sensical or grammatical this early/ late. My dad’s an English teacher and I’m pretty sure that if he were to read this email, me talking about gay sex would not be his biggest concern. _

_ I don’t like being up this late, but it’s kind of like you said - my brain wouldn’t turn off. I’m usually the kid that’s in bed really early (my grandma has actually made fun of me for it - though whoever said the elderly stay up late has never met my gran) and I’ve never pulled an all nighter before - how do people do this? I don’t drink coffee, but I think I might start this morning. _

_ I like what we have now. I like that we can talk about everything and you’re right: we need to make sure we’re ready to talk to a real person about this stuff and not just to a piece of paper or a computer screen. I meant what I said before. I’m willing to wait as long as it takes.  _

_ As for the other bit… I don’t want to scare you, but I am sure of how I feel about you. Take your time. Figure it out. I understand that you don’t want to say anything until you're sure, but if I’m being honest (and hopefully not just cocky)… I think you are sure. I think you’re just scared to be sure. It took me a long time to accept that I felt the way I feel about you. When I first realized that’s how I felt, I tried to make excuses: you were the first guy I really talked to like this; I felt comfortable with you; I was flattered that you were willing to open up to me; this kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. It didn’t seem possible that I could fall in love with the first gay guy I met, because really - stories like that exist to give us hope when real life is trying to crush the hope out of us. I tried to convince myself that I was in love with our circumstances, but it was so much more than that.  _

_ I understand that you want to be sure and I’m not going anywhere while you figure it out. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I don’t know whether to smile or frown. I feel like Blue has a lot more faith in me than he should have which kinda makes me feel like throwing up. But my smile wins out and with it comes the strangest fluttering. It’s like butterflies, but in my heart. He’s in love with me. He may not have said it in so many words, but he implied it strongly enough that even I understood. I shower again because I need to calm down. It doesn’t help much, but at least the butterflies go away.

I pack my bag for school, my mind on little other than Blue’s email. My brain drives out every thought except for the knowledge that Blue might be in love with me. Everytime I think about that particular part of his email, I can feel my face getting hot.

It seems like everyone is half asleep in English class. Martin yawns loudly a couple of times, Joel puts his head down when he gets to class and he stays that way, Nick keeps dozing off. Even Bram looks exhausted and that kid lives for school. Weirdly, I feel like I am the most alert person in the class, which is saying something because I feel like my body is simultaneously wide awake and falling asleep. Mr. Wise tries to engage us for less than a minute before he acknowledges that there’s no getting through to us. He puts on a movie, so I take this opportunity to write back to Blue.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I’m glad we had this talk. I think it’s important for us to know where the other is at and now that we know, I really want things to get back to normal. I think we’ve spent so much time talking about our feelings (and that’s definitely important to talk about), but we haven’t talked about anything else all week. _

_ I realize that I feel like I know so much about you, but I don’t really know all that much. Like we’ve talked about these big things, but we haven’t talked about the little things so much. So I’m curious. What’s your favorite food group? Mine is Oreos - they are heaven squished between chocolate cookies. Or maybe Reeses. _

_ Now all I want to do is stuff my face full of Oreos and Reese's. I already polished off the Reese's you gave me last week (sorry, not sorry), so I guess I’m gonna have to make a pitstop tonight. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I ask to go to the bathroom a few minutes before the end of first period. I should have just enough time to get in and out before kids are sent back to the locker room, so I’m practically running through the hallway. I’m pretty sure that Blue has gym class in the morning - it’s the only thing that makes sense to me - and there’s a chance he has it first period, so I want to get it to him sooner rather than later.

I am actually shocked when there’s a small piece of paper and a little bag in the locker. I grab it, slip my note inside, and get out of the locker room.

I smile to myself. He has to have gym first period. That’s the only way he could have put this in our locker. I’m surprised when an intense desire to find out the name of every boy that has gym class first period overwhelms me.

I don’t go back to English. Instead, I linger by my actual locker and open the note.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ I’ve been thinking a lot about what might happen if we meet. All I can think about is how I’ll have the opportunity to hug and kiss you in real life. So, while I can’t do that yet, I wanted to give you the next best thing. _

_ Love, Blue _

_ P.S. I was planning on just getting you a bag of Hershey kisses; however, I got to the store and I saw that they make these chocolate/ white chocolate hybrids called hugs and I couldn’t resist. _

 

I open the bag and there’s a mix of silver Hershey kisses and these striped ones that I’ve never seen before. I pick up one of the striped ones and true to his word, they have the word ‘HUGS’ printed on the label. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get rid of the smile on my face.

Despite the fact that I have given Blue no time at all to respond to my note, I check the locker before lunch. I actually run into Bram as I’m entering the locker room. He must have gym right before lunch and he looks kinda flustered when he sees me. I don’t give him much thought, because my heart is beating in my ears as I open the locker and I don’t realize until I see the small piece of paper in the locker how much I had needed him to respond.

I pull it out and see my fake name written on the front. I should wait. I’m already late to lunch and my friends already think I’m going crazy, but I can’t. I can’t wait one more moment, so I sit down on one of the wooden benches and open it.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ That’s a tough one - I read this before gym class and spent the entire period thinking about this. I don’t actually think I have a favorite food. I more so have what my mom calls ‘food moods’ where I really want a specific food for a couple of weeks at a time. _

_ While I’m assuming it was your lack of sleep that caused this, I still feel the need to point out that I don’t think Oreos count as a food group. You know that food groups are like fruits and vegetables and grains, right? Though admittedly, I kind of wish they were a food group because then we’d be able to eat them every day. How great would that be? _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I grin to myself as I put the note in my bag and run to lunch. I freeze a few feet from the door. Not first period. He can’t freaking have gym first period because he read my note before gym class. That means he has it second or third. It also means that he went out of his way to get to the locker before school started. He’s just the best.

I shrug off my friends when they ask me where I’ve been. I don’t miss the way Abby’s face falls or the look she and Nick exchange. I feel a bubble of guilt in my chest. I haven’t been avoiding them, but I have been spending way more time obsessing over Blue than before. When I suggest a WaHo date after school on Friday, they all immediately agree. I spend the rest of the period making a conscious effort not to fall into my Blue slump. Maybe Friday will be the perfect opportunity for me to come clean about my weird behavior. Or not. We’ll see.

In French class, my mind is a jumble of thoughts. I think about Abby and Nick and Leah. I think about my family and how they have no idea. I think about Martin, who is the only person other than Blue that knows. And, of course I think about Blue. I suck at French anyway, so I don’t think it matters that my mind is all over the place. Once Madame Blanc finishes playing a video and we’re supposed to be taking notes, I pull out Blue’s note and start to craft my response.

 

_ Blue, _

_ Okay, first of all, Oreos absolutely qualify as a food group. They are the ONLY food group that matters. And I have to point out: you should never be ashamed to stuff your face full of Oreos and Reese's. _

_ Love, Jacques _

_ P.S. Thanks for the hugs and kisses. I’ll enjoy them until we can do this for real. _

 

I feel like I am floating through school the next day. Part of it is that I actually got sleep last night, so I don’t feel like I am at war with my eyelids and part of it is the fact that things are actually returning to normal with Blue. I hadn’t really expected that. I’d thought he would have insisted that we keep talking about our feelings or something like that, but he didn’t. He let us fall back into the comfortable conversations we have, the comfortable conversations I loved and missed. I check the locker before lunch and my mood only gets better when I see a note. 

It seems that Blue is starting to make a habit of going to the locker room at the end of the day. I kinda like that. It makes me feel like he cares enough to go out of his way for me. It makes me feel special. And I have been checking the locker before lunch, so I guess we both have our routines. My friends don’t even ask why I’m late and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. They don’t seem angry with me, so that’s something.

During French class, we’re pairing up to work on our pronunciations so I don’t have any time time to read the note. I don’t have time to read it during gym class either, so by the time I get to History, I literally cannot wait to read the note. Ms. Dillinger has barely started her lecture before I pull it out.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ It’s true, I didn’t know I was talking to such an Oreo connoisseur. So Doc, what is your recommended Oreo diet? I’ll do my best to stick to whatever it is. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

After play practice, I make a pit stop at Publix to pick up two packs of Oreos - one for me and one for Blue. It sucks that Oreos are so expensive, but it is so worth it. I  really need to do my homework, but that doesn’t stop me from spending over an hour carefully crafting an Oreo diet for Blue. I pull out a piece of off-white construction paper, color code my suggestions by meal, and even steal a ruler from Nora so every line is straight. I am pretty pleased with how it comes out.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I’m getting the idea that you’re not 100% committed to your Oreo diet. Here are the guidelines that you must follow everyday. No excuses and no exceptions. I’m just looking out for your health. _

_ Breakfast _

_ An Oreo granola bar or Oreo Pop-Tart (No, they’re not gross. They are delicious. Shut up) _

_ Lunch _

_ Oreo pizza & an oreo milkshake & a couple of oreo truffles my mom makes (My mom’s oreo truffles are literally the most delicious freaking things in the universe - I’ll have to give you some when she makes them around Thanksgiving) _

_ Dinner _

_ Deep-fried Oreos served on top of Oreo ice cream & Oreos dissolved in milk for your drink (No water is acceptable. Only Oreo milk) _

_ Dessert _

_ Oreos. Just Oreos. (I recommend dipping them in milk, but that’s completely optional)z _

_ This all sounds reasonable, right? I got you some Oreos so that you can start your diet immediately. I’m not gonna lie. I bought a pack of Oreos for myself as well and I’m pretty sure I’m going to start in on them once I finish writing this note. I feel like I did when I was a little kid - I used to fantasize about junk food and it was all-consuming. I guess you need to fantasize about something before you know about sex. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I put my note on top of the Oreos. I need to get to school early so I can put them in the locker before school. I want to get this to him before he has gym.

Once I tell Nora that we are going to leave a few minutes early, I try to do my homework. I am starting to think Blue might have been right about the whole being in love thing, because I can’t get him off my mind. And it’s not just the idea of him I can’t stop thinking about. It’s him. Maybe I am in love with him, because his name never leaves my mind and my heart feels like it beats a little faster every time I think about him.

I stay up later than I want to to finish my homework, which means I snooze my alarm one time too many.

I rush to get ready so me and Nora still get to school several minutes early. I practically book it to the locker room. I am surprised to see that there are a few students in here. Some are getting out of the shower and some look like they just went for a run. Our school has a couple of treadmills and a fully equipped weight room, but I never thought kids actually used it if they didn’t have to. Overachievers. 

I quickly put the Oreos and note in the locker and make my way to English.

I am the second person to get there, so I take a seat next to Bram on the couch.

It occurs to me as I sit down that I’d never had an actual conversation with Bram. Bram typically doesn’t talk all that much. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Bram says quietly. He glances at me then back at his hands.

“You’re here early,” I observe.

Bram shrugs and looks down at his shoes. That is the end of our conversation. A small smile settles on his face after a minute and I wonder what caused it. I am surprised to notice that Bram is kinda cute when he smiles like that, especially with the shy look in his eyes. Okay, he is completely adorable. I quickly forget about Bram in favor of Blue.


	3. Decisions, Decisions

~ Chapter 3 - Decisions, Decisions ~

 

During lunch, something’s off. Leah and Abby are acting particularly weird around each other, Bram is doing some kind of homework, Garrett is trying to get Bram to pay attention to something other than homework, and Nick looks like he has no idea what to do to break this tension. I don’t dare to say a word. At one point, I unintentionally stare at Bram as his hand flies across his homework assignment. When he catches me staring, he looks mortified and he shoves his assignment inside his notebook before he starts to put his stuff away. I try to tell him I wasn’t trying to stare and that I didn’t see what he was writing, but he’s gone before I have the chance.

I am able to shrug it off pretty quickly and after a moment, Abby realizes she didn’t print out her french assignment, so she books it to the library. It seems like as she leaves, everyone else snaps out of their funk. Leah flings her french fry at Nick and I team up with her to start a mini, but epic, food fight. I cannot wait for Friday. Waffle House is going to be so much fun. Assuming that Leah and Abby get their shit together.

When gym class rolls around, I’m not expecting anything to be in the locker, but I could have sworn I saw something through the little diamond holes when I walked in. I don’t have a chance to check it while I am changing, but I check it first thing after we are dismissed back to the locker room.

I change back into my regular clothes and make sure the note is secured in my bag until I get to history. We’re taking a pop quiz which takes all of ten minutes and then I have the rest of the period to myself.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ Thank you for looking out for my health. I’m sure it will be hard at first, but I know my body will thank me eventually. I can’t argue with the fact that Oreos are absolutely delicious and the menu you created actually sounds amazing. _

_ However, I hate to have to tell you this, but I don’t think I’ll be able to stick to that dinner. I’m not going to go into too much detail, but I made the mistake of eating some fried Oreos before going on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival. Let it be said that people who are easily nauseated (me) have no business riding the Tilt-A-Whirl, especially not after eating. I haven’t been able to look at fried Oreos the same way since.  _

_ I feel like I just confessed to murder. I know Oreos are really important to you. _

_ I have to admit, I kind of like the idea of you fantasizing about junk food when you were a little kid. Not as much as I like imagining you fantasizing about sex now - hopefully sex with me.  _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I can’t stop thinking about his note and by the time I get home, I am in such a weird place because of it. I can’t focus on anything except the fact that he likes to imagine me fantasizing about having sex with him. I excuse myself from dinner early, because I feel really jittery and on-edge. When I get back to my room, I give into it. I can imagine what Blue might feel like. He probably has the softest hands. I close my eyes as I picture those hands caressing my cheek. I’ll feel his warm breath on my lips as he leans in closer and closer. He’ll captures my lips in a kiss and one of his hands will tangle in my hair as he presses himself against me. So this is what it means to see stars...

It’s so weird that a note did so much to me. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to any of our other notes or emails. I don’t send him an email or write him back yet. I don’t know what I can say, so I know I need to calm my hormones before I try to compose anything coherent.

When I wake up the next morning, I still haven’t figured out what to say. It’s Friday, so I don’t know if there is even a point in writing him a note. He’s made a habit of checking the locker after school, but he might not check it on a Friday, so maybe I am better off sending him an email when I get home from WaHo. 

Waffle House is everything I needed and more. I think we all needed some return to normal. We sat in the booth for hours talking about everything and nothing at the same time. I feel in my heart that this isn’t the right time or the right place to tell them. Not now, when we feel so carefree and weightless. Eventually, but not right now.

Maybe it is Nick’s comment about how I’m almost another year older and another year wiser or my dad asking me if this was gonna be the year that I get myself a ‘serious girlfriend’, but I find myself trying to write to Blue just a few minutes before I’m going to turn seventeen.

Here’s the thing. I always stay up until midnight on my birthday. It’s like my body is genetically programmed to stay up until I’m officially a year older. So my parents and sisters know I will be up, but I never expected them to barge into my room with Alice on Skype at the exact moment I turn 17. I have to hastily close my laptop and find a way to look like I’m not doing anything when they walk in.

They must have practiced their choreographed version of happy birthday and I have to admit, it is pretty epic. I am practically crying because I am laughing so hard.

Once they finish, they retreat from my bedroom like nothing happened. “Night,” my mom calls as she closes the door behind her. It takes a minute for me to get over what just happened and turn my attention back to my email. I wish I could tell Blue about this, but I have a feeling a birthday would be a dead giveaway and while I am definitely starting to warm up to the idea of meeting him, I’m not there yet. I reopen my computer and look at the blank email. It doesn’t seem personal enough anymore. I close my laptop and pull out a blank piece of paper.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I’m sorry it took so long to send you anything. I have kinda been in a weird place since I got your note - and not in a bad way or anything, at least I don’t think so. I don’t know how to ask this, but I feel like I need to know. Have you ever responded to one of our emails or note in a… sexual way? It feels so weird to write that and I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but that’s why I’ve been in such a strange place. Something about you thinking about me fantasizing about having sex with you and I dunno… I’m weird. I’m sorry.  _

_ Sorry about your tilt-a-whirl experience - it sounds traumatic. If it helps, I’ll tell you about a vomit inducing story of mine. When we were in the sixth grade, we went on a field trip to the Ren Faire. Me and my best friend had a competition to see who could eat the most cookie cones. I won - I ate five. I ended up vomiting into a wax mold of my own hand like fifteen minutes later. I won bragging rights and I sometimes still bring that up if he’s being a little too difficult to deal with, so it was totally worth it. So, it’s not just you that makes poor life decisions at carnivals/ fairs. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I fold it up neatly and safely put it in my bag. I sleep fitfully and when I wake up, I don’t feel like it’s my birthday. It feels like just another day, albeit one of the rare ones where I get to school early. The first time I feel like it’s my birthday is lunch. Leah had gotten a giant sheet cake that was me through and through. It is half vanilla and chocolate because I can never make up my mind about the flavor and it is covered in the weirdly addicting Publix icing.

Everyone has to wear a birthday hat if they wanted cake, including me. Except some genius at our table had this idea of making everyone that takes a slice of cake add to my birthday hat, so by the end of lunch I had the most ridiculous and heavy thing on my head. I don’t take it off. During play practice, we devour the leftover cake and when Cal Price rests his hand on my shoulder just a second longer than he should have, I can’t help but blush. I’d feel guilty, but it’s my birthday. I get a pass. And I’m only human.

There is nothing in the locker during gym class, but I don’t let it get me down. Blue doesn’t know it’s my birthday, so he doesn’t know that I want to hear from him more than anything. Plus, I don’t think I’d know what to say to my last note, so I’m not begrudging him a day to think about it.

Except, I don’t hear from him the next day or the next day or the next day. As Friday rolls around, I am beginning to go into panic mode again. I screwed up. That’s what it comes down to. I clearly pushed it too far.

Friday when I get to gym class, I get changed and open the locker. I expect it to be empty, like it’s been every day this week, but I know class will be unbearable if I don’t check it. I feel like my heart is on an upside down roller coaster when I see a note inside.

 

_ You’re not weird. It happens all the time.  _

 

That’s all he wrote, but it still has me blushing and has my heart is thumping more than anything else he could have written. I am on some weird high through the rest of the day. Thank God we don’t have practice on Fridays because I’m pretty sure Ms. Albright would have kicked me out.

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything for the entire weekend. We’d been pretty obsessive about writing notes for a few weeks, and it isn’t really sustainable. At first, I kind of felt like it was a good thing that things were moving a little slower. We’d gotten so intense so quickly and a little space gave me a lot of time to think and sort out my feelings. Now, I am 100% sure. I’m not in love with the idea of love or the idea of Blue. I am in love with him. It makes me simultaneously euphoric and terrified. What am I supposed to do with this? Am I supposed to tell him? Or am I supposed to wait until he brings it up again?

Now, that I know how I feel I just want to go full speed ahead. I just have no idea how to do this. It doesn’t help that we’ve barely talked and I feel like this isn’t something I should bring up out of nowhere. Part of me wants Blue to work his magic and make things normal, just like he did after Halloween. I sit on my bed and stare at my wall for almost an hour before I realize I need to be the one to make things normal this time.

 

_ Hey Blue, _

_ I feel like we got to a kinda weird place with our emails/ notes and I don’t want to completely ignore what we just talked about it, but I also don’t want to dwell on it. All I can say is: I don’t think things will be the same between us after that, will they? _

_ On an entirely different note, I just realized Thanksgiving is coming up. I’m curious. How do you celebrate Thanksgiving? Do you have any fun traditions? Any awkward ones? I want to know everything. _

_ Happy almost Thanksgiving! _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

For the first time in weeks I have all my homework done and I can go to sleep at a semi-appropriate time for a high school student. I guess I should consider myself lucky. I’d read about kids that had to be at school by 7. My school doesn’t start until 8:30, which means I usually am still asleep at 7.

We have a short week ahead of us and when I get to school (early again - I’m pretty sure Nora’s beginning to warm up to the idea of taking the bus), it feels like everyone is buzzing with excitement for a long four-day weekend. Our teachers seem as excited for the break as we are, which totally isn’t helping. Everything is kind of slower and no one wants to do work.

I don’t expect to hear back from him, so I’m not surprised when there’s nothing in the locker on Monday. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel excessively relieved when there is a note in there on Tuesday.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ I think that’s the point. If things were always going to stay the same between us, would there be a point in continuing this? (Don’t answer that - PLEASE don’t answer that) _

_ Thanksgiving is a HUGE deal for my family. I spend the morning with my mom. We always volunteer at a soup kitchen and bring about 100 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for these care packages that they give the families that come in. We bought all the supplies yesterday and we’ll make them once I get home from school tomorrow. It’s one of my favorite traditions. It always puts holidays into perspective for me. We don’t do this for Christmas, because my mom is pretty religious, but we never miss Thanksgiving. If you ever have the chance, I highly recommend it. _

_ We’ll be at the soup kitchen until 10am. We alternate which family we spend Thanksgiving with each year. Last year, we went to my aunt’s house (mom’s sister) and celebrated with all my cousins and aunts on her side, so this year it’s my dad’s turn. We will make a LONG four hour drive to Savannah right from the soup kitchen. For someone that cares deeply about the welfare of others, my mom drives like a maniac, so we will make the drive in four hours no matter how much traffic we hit. It’s one of the few times my parents will be in the same room together, which blows my mind because they get along great when they see each other. But maybe that’s because they spend so much time apart. I still remember all the fighting that happened when they lived together. My dad and stepmom will make a full Thanksgiving dinner for us and I will be disgustingly full by the time we’re done and then we’ll make the four hour drive back because my mom refuses to spend the night at my dad’s place. I guess I understand that. It must be pretty awkward to have to spend time with your ex’s 2nd wife. But we’ll get back somewhere around 1 or 2am. _

_ What about you? How do you celebrate Thanksgiving? _

_ Love, Blue _

 

Wow, Thanksgiving sounds pretty intense for him. It’s nothing like that for me. It’s a good thing that Madame Blanc is just as ready for a break as we are, because she puts on a movie which gives me the perfect opportunity to write back to Blue.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I have to answer that, because I completely agree with you. There’s no point in continuing this if we’re never gonna be more than what we are now and I think both of us fully plan to be more in the future. _

_ Wow. Your Thanksgiving sounds completely overwhelming. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you are the kind of guy that volunteers with the homeless on Thanksgiving. I think that’s really incredible of you - you amaze me sometimes… okay, you amaze me always. _

_ Thanksgiving for me is pretty mild. It’s just me, my sisters, and my parents. My sister is away at school, but she’ll be home for the long weekend. We haven’t seen her in like three months, so we’re all pretty excited. She’s actually flying in tomorrow. My dad will spend all day cooking and then we’ll eat. After we eat, we’ll watch a movie and talk about what we’re grateful for. It’s always the generic ‘I’m grateful for my family’ stuff. I don’t know what it is, but I never really know what to say. It’s not like I’m not grateful for stuff, I guess I just feel like the things I am grateful for are mine. Ya know? _

_ What about you? Do you know what you’re grateful for this year? _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I slip the note into the locker before I change for gym.

No one is in school the next day. I guess half the school decided today is optional, because I only got to English about 30 seconds before the bell rang and I still get a seat on the couch in between Leah and Abby. Mr. Wise takes one look at all the empty seats before he rummages through his DVD collection and chooses a movie for us to watch.

Nearly every class is like that. It helps that our classes are only 30 minutes long because of the early dismissal. We don’t have lunch, so I don’t get to check the locker until gym. We change for gym, but end up watching a movie, so I don’t understand why they had us change. I guess I’m grateful for it, because tucked away in our locker is a note from Blue. I hadn’t been expecting it and my heart feels like it is soaring. I don’t get to read it during class, because they turn off all the lights and even with the windows and light from the screen, I can barely make out the name written on the front of the note.

In History we are watching the same movie we’ve seen every time Ms. Dillinger let’s us watch a movie. I think she might actually be obsessed, but I don’t mind ‘The Lion King’ and it provides the perfect distraction so I can pull out Blue’s note.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ I thought about sending this in an email, but I kind of wanted to write it out. Plus, we’re watching movies all day today, so I had more than enough time to write this for you.  _

_ I don’t know what I’ll say tomorrow, but I know what I’m grateful for. I’m so grateful for you. You’ve given me the strength and courage to be myself and you’ve helped me become comfortable with the idea of other people seeing me for me. Part of me wishes I could just say ‘hey, I’m grateful to be gay and that there’s a guy I can be completely myself with’ but I’m not that brave. Similar to you, I always end up saying something pretty generic when we go around, so I’ll probably end up saying that I’m grateful for family and friends or something like that. What are you grateful for? _

_ Do you remember when we had to make those silly turkey hands when we were kids? Well, sometimes you make me feel like a little kid again. It’s almost like I have nothing to worry about as long as I have you in my life. Does that make sense? In honor of that, I made a paper turkey (I am clearly not an artist). _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I grin as I look at the paper turkey. To anyone else, it wouldn’t be anything special, but it means so much to me. In the palm of the hand, there’s a single Reese’s cup and underneath that, my name is written. Whoever Blue is has really nice handwriting and I can’t help but look at how the J in Jacques is written. It’s almost like calligraphy. On every finger, there is something written in the form of a postscript.

 

_ P.S. I am grateful for your sense of humor. You always know how to distract me or make me laugh. _

_ P.P.S. I love that you are so obsessed with Oreos and Reese’s and that the word ‘freaking’ is such a significant part of your vocabulary. _

_ P.P.P.S. I am so grateful that you let me turn an empty gym locker into something we can use to pass notes and get to know each other in a way we never could have over email. _

_ P.P.P.P.S. I am grateful that I reached a previously undiscovered level of postscript with you.  _

_ P.P.P.P.P.S. And if this hasn’t made it obvious, I am seriously grateful for you. _

 

I think I might die. This is so utterly perfect. Maybe it’s a little silly and yeah, I remember making paper turkeys in like kindergarten, but this is different. This isn’t a turkey Blue had to make. He chose to make it to show me how he feels. I really freaking love this kid.

I pull out a blank piece of paper I play around with the pen I am holding as I stare at the page in front of me. I know exactly what I want to write, but it is terrifying to put it into words. Thank god that she chose ‘The Lion King’, because something about Simba singing about becoming king makes me feel like I can do anything.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I am so freaking grateful for you. I’m so lucky to have someone like you that I can be myself with and that pushes me to be better than I thought I could be. I am especially grateful that you gave me the time to figure out how I feel about you and that you never once pressured me to move faster than I was ready to. But, I’m ready now. And I’m sure. _

_ I’m not going to say it yet, because I want to be able to see your reaction when I tell you, but I will say this: I think about you all the time and I miss you like crazy whenever we’re not talking. I don’t know if I’m ready to know who you are, but it’s seeming less and less like a loss and more and more like a gain. I think I need just a little more time before I’m ready for the world to see me for who I really am and I want us both to be ready for that before we meet. _

_ I know you’re not going to see this until after break, but I needed you to know. _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

I run to the locker room after school. I nearly plow down Bram on my way out of the locker room because he is coming in as I am going out and I was rushing so I would get to my car before Nora. I really don’t need her asking questions about what I had been doing. The poor kid never saw me coming. I am barely able to give him a second thought as I apologize and rush to get to my car.

I might as well have taken my time. Nora is leaning against the door and raises her eyebrows when she sees me. I shrug as we get in. “Where were you?” She asks.

“I had to put something in my locker,” I say with a shrug. It’s not a complete lie… I was putting something in  _ a  _ locker.

We get home and immediately pile into my dad’s car so we can pick Alice up from the airport. My parents make a big deal about everything and this is no exception. They even made a sign like limo driver’s hold, except it has Alice’s name on it. We are ridiculous and embarrassing. It’s one of the things I love about my family, but sometimes it’s a little much. Alice clearly thinks so, if the disgruntled look on her face is anything to go by. She’s really excited to see us though, so her frustration only lasts the time it takes her to walk up to us and then we’re all screaming and hugging and my mom is crying. We’re kinda a mess… but in a hot mess kind of way.

We get home around six and order pizza for dinner. Then we all crowd on the couches in our living room and listen to Alice talk about what college is like and how midterms went. It is nice that for a few hours, it’s just like before she went away to college. I don’t think I realized how much I missed her.

We all went to bed pretty early that night. Something about the hour long drive to the airport and the excitement of Alice being home, but we are all beat.

Sunday comes too soon. I’m only a little ashamed to admit that I cried a little bit as we were hugging Alice goodbye outside of the airport. Things are going to be weird without her and I hate that. There is nothing she can do about that though. She has to go get her Connecticut education. That sounded more sarcastic in my head than I intended.

School sucks on Monday. Everyone is still tired from Thanksgiving turkey and a four day break, so I’m not the only one that feels like we are barely making it through the day.

Mr. Wise gets so frustrated with us, he puts on a movie and tells us he wants us to write a short story so that our unit on Creative Writing won’t be a complete loss. That poor man. All he wants to do is immerse us into the world of crappy literature, but they scheduled it for first period so no one is ever really awake for him.

Everyone is tired and groggy at lunch, so for the most part we are quiet. I don’t even check the locker before I go to the cafeteria, because I don’t want to have to walk ALL THE WAY across the school and then ALL THE WAY back. There is nothing worse than having to go back to school after a long weekend of binge eating and family.

By the time gym rolls around, I kind of hate school and all I want to do is take a nap. I do a complete 360 when I find Blue’s note in the locker. Half my classmates aren’t changing, so in the interest of solidarity (of course), I shove my gym clothes back into my locker.

Because so many people aren’t prepared, Mr. Kelly gives us a free day. Anybody that wants to can play basketball. A handful of students do that, while most of us elect to find a secluded spot on the bleachers. I pull out Blue’s note.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ I can’t even explain how I felt reading your note. I feel like I’ve been on cloud 9 since Wednesday. I checked the locker after school, so I saw it then. I thought about sending you an email, but I kind of felt like you didn’t want to hear from me until after the break.  _

_ I can’t stop thinking about you either. I’m dying to know who you are, even if it’s absolutely terrifying. Here’s the thing - I’m not ready to be out. I don’t want people at school knowing that I’m gay and I think I’m almost ready to tell my family, but I’m not there yet. I think you may be associating meeting me with this big coming out thing - let me capitalize that, because it is huge: Big Coming Out Thing. Unless you want to be out, there’s no reason we can’t meet and still keep this to ourselves. _

_ I don’t want to pressure you, so let me know what you want to do and that’s what we’ll do. If you want to wait… however long that may be, then we’ll wait. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

At play practice almost everyone notices my good mood. Everyone is so tired and silly today, so we’re having so much fun and we’re all taking some time to goof off. And what makes it even better is that we’re all on the same page. There’s an unspoken consent that we’re not going to do too much that’s play related today. Even Ms. Albright’s not taking it too seriously, because she’s just as tired as we are. She’s actually joining in and cracking jokes. It’s one of those perfect moments that you want to freeze forever and never forget.

Until freaking Martin has to ruin it. I was watching Cal doodle on his notebook, so I don’t notice Martin until he starts to talk. “You’re in a good mood,” he tells me. He has this weird smile on his face as he looks between me and Cal, and honestly I don’t even care if he thinks Cal is Blue, because it’s none of his freaking business. And because that would keep him away from whoever Blue actually is.

“Yeah,” I agree. I shrug. I think he expects me to bare my soul to him or something. It’s really annoying. Just because he happened upon my biggest secret doesn’t mean he has the right to know anything about me.

He looks between me and Cal again, then apparently decides not to prod into it. He shifts a little. I’ve never noticed how fidgety he gets when he’s nervous. “So, is this a better time to talk?” He asks.

I look at him cluelessly. “What?”

“Is this a better time to talk,” he repeats slowly. “You’ve been kind of grumpy lately, so I didn’t want to push you on it, but now that you’re back to normal, I figured…”

He glances over to where Abby is sitting by Taylor. She kinda looks like she’s hoping that Taylor will fall off the stage or something. That’s when I understand what’s happening here. “You’re talking about Abby,” I say.

“Well… yeah,” he says slowly. “I mean you did agree to help me.”

“I did not agree to anything,” I say sharply. “You are trying to force me to help you. There’s a difference.”

Martin looks taken aback, but before he has the chance to say anything else, Ms. Albright calls us back to the stage for the next scene. I’m not in it, so I stay where I’m standing and try to calm myself down. I have no success because as soon as I get Martin out of my head, I’m thinking of Blue.

By the time I get home, Blue’s note has entirely consumed me and I’m pretty sure he’s the only thing that exists in my world right now. I try to push him from my mind so I can focus on homework, but it kind of seems like he has moved in permanently. I have a mental image of him bringing a blanket and tucking himself into the corner of my head. He looks comfortable there. So I accept that I’m not going to stop thinking about him or the note he left me today, so I write my entire story about a mysterious stranger that the protagonist fell in love with. I am careful to avoid anything that puts a gender to the mysterious stranger. I know Mr. Wise will assume they’re a girl, but I feel like I would be lying if I confirm that in my story. I call the character Green and put everything that I know about Bue into that character.

When I finish, it isn’t perfect and probably isn’t as dramatic as my classmates’ stories will be, but I am proud of it. I’m not the best writer, but I would bet money that this is the best thing I’ve ever written.

And I feel like I get a lot out by writing it. Somehow, planning how we would meet for the purpose of my story, makes me feel ready for that. I spend almost an hour figuring out when we would be able to meet before I succumb to sleep. 

When I wake up, I am more conflicted than I thought possible. The idea of telling him right before winter break popped in my head and I can’t freaking get it out. I weirdly feel like two and a half weeks is way too long to wait to meet him and at the same time, way too soon. Just once, I want all the parts of my brain to agree on something. JUST ONCE! 

I’m so distracted by my internal debate, I forgot that I put a bag of chocolate truffles in the freezer to give to Blue (I did tell him I’d give them to him) until I’m on my way to school and there’s no way I’m waiting, so I ignore Nora’s death stare as I turn around. We still are on time to school, but only just. I walk into English as the late bell is ringing.

It’s probably a good thing we were almost late, because I had to sit at a desk. I’m writing back to Blue and I can’t really do that from the couch. And if there was an open spot on the couch, there’s no way I could have gotten away with not sitting there.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I thought about this all last night and I want to meet you. This is scary and terrifying, but I want to do this. _

_ So, if it’s okay with you, I want us to meet after school on the 19th. It seems like an eternity away, but if we wait until then, we’ll have a two week break to figure out what we want our relationship - if you want to call it that - to look like. We’ll be able to figure out school and our families. I just kinda want to have that time with you to just be us and not have to worry about acting differently. _

_ I can’t wait until I can show you what you mean to me in real life and not just through our notes and emails. _

_ Love, Jacques _

_ P.S. As promised, I have some leftover chocolate truffles from Thanksgiving. Get ready to have your mind blown. _

 

I don’t put it in the locker until gym class, because my brain keeps flip flopping between thinking this is the best decision in the world and thinking that I am a complete idiot. This is new and terrifying territory, but I made my decision and I plan to stick to it.


	4. Creeksecrets

~ Chapter 4 - Creeksecrets ~

 

I don’t hear from Blue until Thursday. I guess we are past using email, because we’ve only sent each other a handful of emails since Halloween. I expect that to feel like a loss, but I love passing him notes. It feels a lot more personal and intimate.

 

_ YES! The 19th it is. It sounds like a date! _

_ I think we should meet in public. For obvious reasons we’ll have to be subtle, but I don’t think anyone will think too much about two guys getting some food together. Friends do it all the time. I think Waffle House is gonna be too crowded, so is there any place you know that might be a little more quiet?  _

_ There’s another big thing we need to figure out. How will we figure out who we are? It needs to be something that’s only obvious to us. It sounds corny to say I’ll be the one in blue and I don’t think that would work out anyway, because what if other people are wearing blue? Can you think of anything? _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I spend a lot of time pondering Blue’s question. He’s right. Anyone could be wearing blue. What can we do that’s obvious to us but unnoticeable to everyone else?

It doesn’t hit me until the next morning during English as I’m zoning out and staring at a textbook that’s balanced on the concrete ledge under the window that there is a REALLY obvious solution.

 

_ Blue, _

_ I actually kind of think that while Waffle House might be busy, it’s also going to be pretty inconspicuous if a bunch of our classmates are there with their friends. And it’s like you said: we’re not going to talk about too much or do anything while we’re there anyway. _

_ I’ve thought a lot about how we might recognize the other. What if one of us has a textbook out? It’s the day that break starts so no one else will be doing homework, but no one will think it’s weird for one of us to have our textbook. _

_ Can you believe it? Two more weeks! _

_ Love, Jacques _

 

On Monday, Blue confirms that Waffle House works for him. He even tells me he thinks my idea is ‘brilliant.’ That’s right, he said I am brilliant. The closer we get to the nineteenth, the more of a train wreck I am. I am terrified and excited and there are times that I can’t figure out which I feel the strongest.

Blue and I seem to have a routine down, I’m almost sad to see it end. We write notes to each other every single day. Without fail, I check the locker before lunch - my friends don’t even ask anymore. I think they think I have a secret girlfriend or something, because Nick smiles really weird and shares a look with Leah everytime I sit down. I don’t know if he thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s not. Whatever. He can make whatever assumptions he wants to make.

I spend most of French writing a note back to Blue and put it in the locker during gym class and Blue always checks it after school. We don’t talk about meeting, but we really have everything figured out with that so we don’t need to. And I don’t think either of us want to obsess over it too much. Okay, well HE doesn’t want to obsess over it. I don’t think it’s possible for me to stop.

The last week before the break, everyone is checked out. It’s the worst time of the year to give tests and without fail we have a quiz, test, or project in every single class. It’s not a good combination. Madane Blanc actually walks out of class for a few minutes on Tuesday because she is so frustrated with us. 

Fortunately for me, my last test is on Thursday. Nick’s spanish teacher is crazy and is giving an oral exam on Friday, which Nick has compared to corporal punishment more than once. Nick says he’ll be lucky if he remembers how to say hello in Spanish, but he’s a genius so I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Right after I finish my essay test for English and before I can feel the relief that I am officially done with tests until after break, Mr. Wise breaks out the creative writing assignment he had given us two weeks earlier and lets us know he just finished grading them. I had actually forgotten about that assignment. He isn’t the best at grading our assignments, but he is usually better than this.

He tells us that he is pleased with our efforts, but that he’s not going to pass them back yet. He wants to share his favorites with us, so we should come prepared to listen and discuss these tomorrow. I guess it’s good that he acknowledges there is no point in teaching, but it’s annoying that we have to do any kind of work. Ms. Dillinger already has ‘The Lion King’ lined up. In Algebra, Ms. Crowley is still trying to cram information into our brains, which is absurd because she already told us she isn’t testing us on this and we’re all going to forget it all over the next two weeks anyway.

After school, I reach my breaking point with Martin. He doesn’t even do anything excessively terrible, I’m just so nervous for tomorrow that my Martin tolerance is at an all time low. I am sitting on the edge of the stage next to Abby when he walks up to us.

I pretend I don’t see him at first even when Abby nudges me to point him out. I hope that for once the universe will smile upon me and he’ll walk away, but it turns out the universe actually hates me. “Hey Spier,” he says. He looks like he’s trying extra hard to look casual, but he ends up just looking really uncomfortable.

“Hey,” I say. I know I’m tense because Abby nudges me again, but I’m not about to explain this shitfest to her. 

“So… I was hoping to talk to you,” Martin starts to say.

“No,” I cut him off. I sound angrier than I mean to and I see Abby’s concern transform to shock.

“No?” Martin asks. “I don’t think you understand…”

“I understand everything really fucking well,” I snap. “The answer is no. To anything you might ask. I can’t-I won’t-” I glance at Abby. “No.”

Martin’s eyes narrow. “And you’re sure about that? You’re sure there’s nothing you can do to help me,” he confirms. He looks pissed, but I don’t even care. I’m so tired of him holding this over my head and I really don’t think he’ll actually out me. He’s had over two months at this point and he hasn’t done anything.

“There’s plenty I could do. There’s nothing I will do,” I tell him shortly.

“But-”

“NO!” I shout. My hands are bunched into fists at my side and if I were a violent person, I’m pretty sure I would punch him. But I’m not a violent person, so instead I fix him with the angriest look I can.

Abby hops off the stage and hovers in front of me protectively. “Okay, you need to go away,” she warns Martin. She waits until he walks away and then disappears for a minute. When she returns, she’s carrying my bag. “Come on. I need some waffles. You can drive.”

“But-” I start to say.

“I already cleared it with Ms. Albright. I told her you were going to help me run lines,” Abby cuts me off. “Let’s go. We only have an hour and a half until the late bus and if I miss it, you’re driving me all the way home.”

I follow Abby and feel like I’m in a bit of a daze. The five minute drive to Waffle House passes in complete silence. When we walk in, I notice how empty it is. I think about how I’m supposed to meet Blue here tomorrow and part of me is desperately hoping it will be busier. Otherwise, we may be more conspicuous than we intend to be.

Almost everyone here looked like they are in their seventies or eighties. The only other person our age is Bram. He’s sitting by himself in a booth and looks nervous. He moves around his salt shaker about fifteen times in the time it takes Abby and I to flag down the waiter. I wonder if he’s on a date. I can’t imagine quiet Bram Greenfeld asking out a girl, but he’s cute enough that I’d bet a girl could have asked him out. I want to find out who he’s here with, but Abby whisks me off to a booth on the other side of the diner and I forget all about Bram.

Even after we place the orders, we are silent. Finally, Abby can’t take it anymore and she asks, “are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Martin or am I going to have to guess?”

I frown and look at the table. Maybe I can tell her some of it. She doesn’t need to know about Blue or that I’m gay to understand why I would be pissed that Martin is blackmailing me. So I start to tell her what I can. I tell her about Martin finding my emails and only tell her that they contain something sensitive about me before I launch into his attempt to blackmail me.

When I finish, Abby looks a little overwhelmed. “But I don’t understand. What could be so bad that you can’t tell us?” She asks.

Maybe it’s her wide eyes or how her eyebrows are knit together in confusion or that I’m so ridiculously desperate to say it out loud, but I feel like it bubbles up in me. I get that feeling where if I don’t say something, I’m pretty sure that I’ll spontaneously combust or something like that. With how much I want to say it, I expect it to come out like an explosion, but my voice sounds small and quiet when I finally say, “I’m gay.”

“Oh. Okay.” Abby is quiet for a long time and I can practically see her connecting the dots. “So let me get this straight,” she starts to say. She cuts herself off and her eyes widen comically as she realizes what she said. I don’t know what it is, but suddenly I am almost hysterical. I cannot stop laughing and after a minute Abby joins in. “Sorry about that. I guess there’s no way to get this straight, huh?”

That makes me start laughing all over again. I feel the laugh all the way down to my stomach and I’m pretty sure this is what going to the gym feels like. I can’t quite get enough breath in, so I end up coughing while laughing and I’m just a complete mess. Our waiter comes over to ask if I’m okay and I can barely hold it together long enough to nod at him. I don’t realize that some tears slipped from my eyes until Abby gives me a napkin. Oh my god, I so needed this. I needed to laugh and be carefree. Thank god that Abby was willing to lie to Ms. Albright. Thank god that she was so nervous to offend me. Thank god that she’s so funny. “No, I guess not,” I agree in between hysterics. “There’s no way to get this strai-” I can’t even get it all out before my laughter overwhelms me.

Half the restaurant is staring at me and our waiter brings me a glass of water, but I can’t make myself calm down. “I need some air,” I gasp out as I jump from the booth. I’m grateful it’s December because the cool air helps a lot.

I sit down on the cement sidewalk and take deep breaths. Now that my laughter is gone, I’m practically hyperventilating as the adrenaline wears off and panic grips me. What the hell was I thinking antagonizing Martin? If he wasn’t going to out me before, I could have very well changed that. I’m a freaking idiot. “Are you okay?”

I look up and am surprised to see Bram standing outside his car. His door is open and he must have been in the process of leaving. “Yeah, sorry,” I say quickly. “I just needed some air.” I climb to my feet. “I better get back in.”

He glances inside and nods. “You should probably get back to your date.” He almost sounds frustrated, which is really freaking weird. Because what the hell did I do to make him mad at me?

“It’s not a date. We’re just friends.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t look like he believes me, which only confuses me more.

I snap. “Why do you care anyway? Weren’t you on a date today?”

Bram actually looks surprised. “What?”

I shrug. “You looked like you were waiting for someone.”

“No, I was… it doesn’t matter,” he says. “If you’re okay, I really should get going.”

I don’t know why, but I feel like I have to tell him. “I’m really not on a date. I would never do that to Nick and believe me, she’s not my type.”

I don’t look at him and I don’t wait for him to say anything else before I walk back inside.

Once I get back and assure her that I’m fine, Abby tries again. “Okay, Martin found an email that made it obvious you are gay. We’ll come back to that, because I want to know what was in that email and who it was going to,” she warns. “So he found this email and decided it was his secret to do with as he pleases. And he used that to blackmail you into helping him. He wanted you to get me to spend more time with him? And you didn’t, so now he’s… what? What is he going to do?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d actually out me, but I also never thought he would blackmail me and I didn’t exactly help before, so who knows?” I ask bitterly.

“I can’t believe this,” Abby mutters. “Were you ever tempted? To, you know, help him?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. He started blackmailing me before Halloween and this is the first time I officially told him no, so I guess I was always on the fence about it. I didn’t want to do that to you, but I didn’t want to come out,” I explain.

“Is that why you’ve been acting so weird?” She asks.

I consider lying to her, but I’ve told her so much. I might as well tell her everything. I think maybe it will be good for me to get it all out. “I’ve been acting a little weird, because I fell in love with someone,” I admit.

Abby’s eyes get big and she’s kind of looking at me like I’m a puppy. I can’t figure out if that’s good or weird. “Who, who, who, who, who, who, who?” She asks eagerly. I am so tempted to say ‘who let the dogs out?’ but we’re having a serious conversation, so I swallow my impulse.

“The thing is, I don’t actually know. I’m going to find out tomorrow. But, we’ve been anonymously emailing since August.” It’s impossible to explain it properly in so few words - how do you sum up months of emails and notes? - so I weakly add, “right away, we understood each other in a way no one else could.” 

She looks thoughtful. “So it’s your emails to him that Martin read?” She confirms. I nod. “So, you were not only putting your secret on the line, but his as well?” I nod again and terror grips me. I’m really not so worried about me, but it could be the end of me and Blue if Martin outs me. “You are amazing.” Her whole face lights up with her smile. “Seriously Simon, you are God’s gift to this world. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you helped him, you know, but I’m glad you didn’t.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. There’s a 0% chance that Abby wouldn’t have been pissed at me if I’d helped Martin but I’m not about to point that out, especially with how well she took me coming out.

I am distracted by the giant stack of waffles that are put in front of me and I have a big bite - and I mean BIG; like more waffle than space in my mouth BIG - before Abby says something. “It was really brave of you to tell me this,” she acknowledges. 

It takes me almost a minute to finish chewing and swallow. I’m painfully aware of how much time passes and I realize I probably need to eat my waffles like a human being if we’re going to talk. “I didn’t have much of a choice,” I remind her.

“Regardless,” she shrugs. “I appreciate you telling me all this. What are you going to do when you meet your mystery man tomorrow?”

I groan. “Please, don’t remind me. I know I have to tell him about Martin, but he’s gonna freak.”

“That’s not even what I meant, though that is an excellent point. I meant, what are you going to do when you meet him. What are you going to say?” She’s practically sitting on the edge of her seat.

“Are you asking me to plan out my date?” I ask incredulously.

She frowns. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” she admits. “I will be waiting with bated breath to hear all about this.” Suddenly, she looks nervous. “You don’t need to tell me who he is when you find out, but will you tell me stuff? Keep me in the loop about how it’s going? I want to respect your privacy, but I’m excited for you. I want to know what’s happening with you.”

“Of course,” I promise her. I have a feeling I’m gonna need someone to talk to about this stuff and she’s been taking it pretty well so far.

“So how did Leah and Nick take this? By the way, kudos to Nick because he went out of his way to make me think you like Leah,” she tells me.

I look down at the table guiltily. “Abby, you’re the only one that knows.” I try to take a bite of my waffle, but it seems really hard to chew right now.

“Oh,” she says. I can see her frowning. “Are you going to tell them?”

“Eventually,” I say I evasively. In truth, I haven’t let myself think of it much because it seems so terrifying to tell anyone about this. I thought that once I told someone, it would be like a dam had broken and I would be able to tell everyone. But I still feel just as scared.

I guess Abby must pick up on that, because she holds my hand. “Okay, well I love you. And I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. I feel tears prick at my eyes and I have no idea why that made me so emotional.

The next day, I’m tapping my foot in English class as Mr. Wise flips through his stack of papers trying to find his favorite short story. Mr. Wise has already called me out on clicking my pen and tapping my fingers on my desk, so I’m trying to be as quiet as possible. I think he might actually write me up if I don’t get ahold of my nerves. I don’t think there’s anyway to calm myself down. I am just hours from meeting Blue and knowing who he is.

Finally, Mr. Wise finds the story he’s looking for. I’m not the best writer - I don’t think I would even define myself as a mediocre writer. So my jaw practically hits my desk when Mr. Wise begins reading my short story. As he reads, I am eternally grateful that he didn’t tell anyone whose story he is reading. I’m pretty sure this is his way of punishing me, but I can’t figure out what I did to make him mad.

I sink deeper and deeper into my seat as he reads it. Maybe it’s because it has been so long, but I don’t remember it being so specific when it came to me and Blue. I guess I channelled a lot more of him into it than I remembered. I mean, I guess in retrospect that is obvious, because I’d named the mysterious stranger Green in honor of the other part of his email address and they bond over their secret love of dogs. The universe I wrote up was cat-centric so it was almost taboo to like dogs. I’d thought I was so clever at the time. There are so many innuendos it seems impossible that someone won’t realize that it’s all a giant gay metaphor. But maybe it’s just different enough. I mean, in my story, they met in a college chat room and talk constantly through text message, so it is really entirely different. Except not at all and hearing it out loud makes me fall in love with Blue all over again.

I didn’t realize how long it was while I was writing it (it takes him most of the period to read it) and when Mr. Wise finishes, he asks if anyone has any observations about the story. I don’t think anything of it until I hear Martin Addison say, “nice story Spier. Sounds like someone has a secret crush.”

I feel like I am in a cage with two dozen kids staring in at me. I want nothing more than to disappear. I know what’s coming. I know what he’s going to do next. Why else would he say this? In all the ways I had thought of this nightmare unfolding, I never thought he would out me in the middle of class.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business Martin,” Bram snaps. I turn to stare at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to Nick, because they were early enough to get dibs on the couch, but not early enough to save me a spot - go figure. “If Simon did write this story, that character could have been inspired by his hope for a future relationship. Or it could have been written about two friends that he knows have feelings for each other, but they haven’t realized it themselves, so he gave them their happily ever after.” Bram glances at Nick pointedly which causes him to look down at his knees. “It could be anything. We can never assume to know the intent behind an author’s writing. It’s why there are so many interpretations of old poems or Shakespearean works or any literary work where the author is deceased or incapable of providing clarification on the symbolism in their work.”

“Well said Mr. Greenfeld,” Mr. Wise compliments. Just then the bell rings. Thank God for early dismissals.

I feel like I am in a daze during Algebra. Ms. Crowley is going on about zeroes or slopes or something like that. I have no clue. I spend the entire period staring at the back of Bram’s head. I make a connection, an impossible connection. I don’t know if my brain briefly decided to turn off the oblivious filter or what happened to make me aware of certain undeniable facts, but I am suddenly sure of a couple of things: 

ONE - Bram Greenfeld stuck up for me today. He never speaks unless he absolutely has to, but he still chose to defend me. TWO - Blue is ridiculously good with grammar and English and Bram is the best student in our class. THREE - Bram and Blue had strep throat at exactly the same time. I thought it was a coincidence, especially since so many kids had gotten it, but what if it wasn’t a coincidence? .

Maybe it’s only three things, but that’s three too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. Too many facts for it to be Simon logic. I can’t believe it. I know who Blue is… well, I’m like 99.9% sure. There’s always that .1% that this is some weird coincidence in the universe’s quest to prove it’s hatred for me, but I really don’t think so. Plus, both sides of my brain are in agreement about this and that’s gotta mean something.

During gym class, we have to empty out our lockers and when I see the lock, I figure Blue must have wanted me to see something in it. I’m rewarded when I spot Blue’s latest note. Everyone’s too busy throwing out empty Gatorade bottles and trying not to gag at old, sweaty socks that had been long forgotten, so I open the note without attracting a single look.

 

_ Jacques, _

_ I’m almost positive I know who you are and I think you know who I am too. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a different choice you have to make if you do know it’s me. If you still want to do this, I’ll be outside of the building waiting for you after school. My mom’s car wouldn’t start this morning, so if you don’t want to meet me, I’ll understand and I will catch a ride with my friend. We never have to talk about this again. _

_ It’s up to you. Regardless of what you choose, I’m glad to finally know who you are. And I want you to know that I’m glad it’s you. _

_ Love, Blue _

 

I clutch the note in my hand as I leave the gym. I feel weirdly numb. I think I should feel scared or nervous or happy or excited, but I just feel numb.

It is official, that .1% is gone. I know who Blue is. Bram is the only person that would have reason to think I know who he is. When the bell rings, dismissing us for the day, I realize I have a big decision to make. I guess in retrospect, it was never really a decision. I walk out the front doors of the building and scan the students around me until I spot Bram. He is leaning against the half-wall that lines the stairs and is looking down at his shoes. People walk by without giving him a second look and on any other day, I probably would have been one of them.

It’s a testament to how eager kids are to get home that the school empties out in record time.

I weave through throngs of students and walk up to him. “I thought you’d be the one in blue,” I say quietly. I internally tense up. That is probably the most cringe-worthy thing I’ve ever said. His answering smile is so big, it can only be described as dazzling. I forget to feel self-conscious as I look at that smile. He holds up what is in his hand, which I realize is his Chemistry textbook. I feel like my mouth is going to break from smiling so hard. “Do you still want to go to Waffle House? Or do you want to go straight to your place?” I ask nervously. 

The whole point of Waffle House was to give us a way to identify each other, but that kind of seemed moot. And I don’t want to have to wait to talk to him and figure out whatever this is between us. At the same time, I don’t want to seem too forward. He frowns. I guess he’s having the same argument with himself that I am. “I think we should go straight to my place. We can order something when we get there if you’re hungry,” he decides.

I nod. “I guess I’ll drive?” I confirm. Okay, I need to be about 10000% less awkward around him. ‘I guess I’ll drive?’ What else were we gonna do? Hitchhike?

Bram apparently doesn’t think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said and I wonder if that should concern me. “If that’s alright? Trying to jump start my mom’s car didn’t work, so she took mine,” he explains hastily.

“It’s totally fine. Perfect, in fact,” I assure him. “So your mom has work?” I try to sound nonchalant, but I know from his amused expression that I epically fail. He doesn’t answer me, but the look on his face makes my stomach do somersaults. It makes me want to pin him against the outside of the school and kiss him like no one is watching. Impulse control, I remind myself. Impulse control.

“This way,” I mutter. 

He lives a little further from the school than I do, but I don’t mind the drive. I pull up outside his house and we ascend his sloped lawn.

“When will your mom be home?” I ask. I’m not even asking for nefarious reasons, I just want to know how much time we have to talk.

He must be as nervous as I am, because he fumbles a little with his keys as he opens the door.    
“Not until after 6.” Once we get inside, I put my hands over his shaky ones.

He kicks the door closed behind us. “Hey,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he answers.

He looks at the floor uncomfortably, reminding me that I’m not the only one swimming in uncharted waters. Neither of us really knows how to start this and I’m sure I’m not the only one with a million questions. “How did Martin know you wrote that story?” He asks. He looks surprised that he got the question out and looks like he is dreading my answer.

“How did you know he was right?” I counter.

“I kind of figured out who you were a while ago,” he admits. “I suspected it was you before I even gave you the Reese's. You talk exactly the same way you write and Garrett saw me going in there one day and he thought it was your locker. He says you check it everyday during gym class. I believe his exact words were, ‘Are you and Spier sending each other love notes? That’s his locker.’ I probably should have told him then, but I didn’t… I couldn’t. Did you have any idea it was me?”

“No… at least not until class today. I had no idea who it could be. But once I knew it was you, it made so much sense. I felt like the clues were all there. I should have gotten it when you were out with strep.”

Bram chuckles. “Yeah. When you didn’t think anything of that, I doubted myself. I thought maybe I was projecting onto you. I wanted it to be you, because once I got this idea of you in my head, I couldn’t get it out. Every time I sent you an email or wrote you a note, I thought about what you would look like when you read it and how you would react. But while I wanted it to be you, it seemed so impossible. Do you know what I mean?”

“It’s like all the clues are there, but how could we possibly be that lucky?” I guess.

“That’s exactly it. What are the odds that I am lucky enough that you are my Jacques? You really had no idea?”

“You’re not the lucky one.” I shake my head, a thousand thoughts swarming around like bees where my head is their beehive. “Leah calls me oblivious all the time and I always tell her she’s exaggerating. Don’t tell her this, but she’s right.” I study him for a minute. 

We have so much to talk about, but that didn’t change the fact that I cannot stop thinking about kissing him. It’s almost overwhelming. I can almost feel his lips on mine and I want nothing more than to make it happen. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He makes no move to lead me anywhere else in his house and he doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

I feel tingly all over and he’s got this  _ look _ in his eyes. And this  _ look _ makes me feel like the world will stop if I don’t kiss him immediately. Seriously, it’s that overwhelming. The thing is, I know just about everything there is to know about him and I’ve dreamed about kissing him more times than I can count… and not because I can’t count high, but because I’ve dreamt about it A LOT. And part of it is the anticipation. I feel like I could choke on the anticipation. “That can wait,” I tell him. Maybe he instantly understands what I mean or maybe he was already there, but before I have the chance to process anything we are kissing.

I feel like I melt. I don’t care that it takes us a little while to figure it out or that he holds me a little too tight. It is a good thing he holds me so tight, because otherwise, I feel like I would have really fallen to the floor and turned into the puddle of emotions I feel like inside. The kiss makes me feel like Bram is everything. I feel like I did when he first implied that he loved me or when I realized it for myself or when he left me that very first bag of Reese’s. In that moment, I feel so RIGHT.

I kind of lose track of time, but when my phone rings and pulls us from our moment, I realize several minutes have passed. I don’t look to see who is calling me, but I silence my phone. I’m simultaneously annoyed and grateful for whoever it is. I never want the kiss to end, but at the same time, I knew it was important that we don’t take it too far.

“You should answer that,” Bram tells me.

I shake my head. “They can wait. This can’t. We really do have a lot to talk about.” Kissing him makes me feel like I am suddenly wide awake. It is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced and while part of me wants nothing more than to kiss him again, I know we shouldn’t do that again until we get everything out. More specifically, until I get everything out. I am barely aware of anything as he takes my hand and leads me to his living room. I don’t take my eyes off of him. I sit down next to him on the couch without releasing his hand. He doesn’t try to break the contact and I am grateful for that.

We talk about everything until both of our phones start to ring. Nick is calling me while Garrett calls him. The moment I ignore Nick’s call, Abby calls me. And then Bram’s phone is ringing again.

“Nick,” he says softly. “I’m gonna answer it. Something has to be wrong.”

“Hello?” Bram answers. He puts Nick on speakerphone.

“Are you with Simon?” Nick asks frantically. There is something in his tone that makes my heart thump uncomfortably fast and makes the blood drain from my face. I’m suddenly worried that something happened to Abby or Leah. Why else would Nick be tracking me down? I remind myself that I just ignored a calls from Abby and Leah, so nothing too terrible could have befallen me. Unless they were calling me for help. Shit and I was ignoring them. I suddenly have this image of a really unlikely kidnapping occuring and some villain getting away with it because I didn’t answer my phone. I think this is what my mom meant when she said being a part of the play is bringing out my theatrical tendencies.

“Why?” Bram asks. His voice is a little squeakier than normal.

“So that’s a yes. The two of you need to see something,” Nick warns us. “Go to creeksecrets. I’m so sorry. I… If you need to talk, we’re all at Waffle House. Garrett’s here too.”

He hangs up without another word. Bram looks at me and I can see the concern in his eyes. I imagine it is because I have frozen and I can’t quite figure out what I’m supposed to do next. We both know what this means. Martin outed me.

Despite the fact that I had been pretty sure it was coming, I’m not ready. I want more time before everyone knows.

“Come on,” he mutters. We practically run up the stairs to his bedroom and I feel antsy as he opens his laptop. 

His laptop chooses this exact moment to update - it makes me even more on edge as I reread the message telling us not to turn off his computer until updates are complete about a hundred times. The little spinning circle is torture. That’s what is happening. The universe is torturing me. “Breathe,” he reminds me.

That’s easy enough for him to say. He’s not the one that’s about to be outed. Well… I guess if Martin posted my emails, he will be indirectly outed. “You know people are going to try to figure out who you are,” I say quietly.

He nods. “Yeah, I know.” His voice sounds tight.

“What are you going to do if they guess right?” I ask curiously.

Bram sighs. “We’ll figure that out together. I really don’t think anyone will realize it’s me.” I nod. That’s true. Even with all the facts right in front of me, I hadn’t realized until today. And that was only because he stopped being quiet long enough to give himself away.

I feel like an hour passes before the updates are done, but in reality it is only a couple of minutes. We wait another excruciating minute as his internet connects and then finally, he pulls up creeksecrets.

When he looks at his screen, his face is almost pale and he kind of looks like his world just exploding. It takes him over a minute to read through what Martin wrote. How long is this post? 

“How bad is it?” I ask.

“Bad,” he responds curtly.

“You just said this was a possibility,” I point out. I know that talking about it in the hypothetical and actually experiencing it are two different things, but I don’t expect his reaction. I’m suddenly filled with an intense fear. What if this is too much for him? What if reading the post and reading the hundreds of comments that our asshole classmates have undoubtedly already posted, changes things?

He shakes his head and I am shocked to see a single tear slip down his cheek. It leaves a shiny path all the way down to his chin. “No. I don’t think either of us expected this.” He finally hands me his laptop. I look at it and my heart stops. Everything stops. I don’t think the world can possibly still be happening around us. Not when Martin has done what he’s done. This is low, even for Martin.

 

_ ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS AT CREEKWOOD HIGH!!! _

_ Roses are red, barns have hay. I, Simon Spier, am supremely gay _

_ Break out the flannel, wave that rainbow flag. For it’s true, I am indeed a fag _

_ Roses are red, peanut butter has globs. My hobbies include, buttsex and blow-jobs _

_ Interested parties, in sexing this guy. Should let me know, ladies need not apply _

_ Roses are red, cows go moo. I am in love with my pen pal, Blue _

_ You want to know who has me compelled. Well if you must know, my lover is Bram Greenfeld _


	5. Out

~ Chapter 5 - Out ~

 

I feel so overwhelmed. The poems not even good, but somehow I think I would have preferred for him to have just outed me normally. The effort and time he had to put into writing this… he really has to hate us to do something like that.

Bram looks pissed and now I understand why. I don’t know what to say to the post. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I… I can’t make this better for you. I’ll just go.” There are some things we can’t recover from. I know that him being outed before he was ready is one of them. He doesn’t deserve this. I stand up and make a mad dash for his door, but I only make it a couple of steps before he stops me. His hand is clutched tightly around my wrist as if he needs physical proof that I’m here.

“No.” There is a strange look of determination in his eyes.

“No?” I question. I am pretty sure he’s temporarily gone insane. But I guess that would be a justifiable reaction to what Martin had just done. 

“No. I don’t want you to go,” he tells me. 

“Your mouth may be saying that, but the rest of you isn’t,” I point out. He’s practically shaking with anger.

He takes a deep breath. “I need you to stay.”

“But you just got outed. You didn’t want this,” I point out.

“Neither did you. I just need a minute,” he says. He sits down on his bed and I realize a split second before it happens that he is about to fall apart at the seams. I sit down next to him and hold him tight as he begins to cry into my shoulder.

It’s weird because Bram is so much taller than me, but right now, he feels so small in my arms. I don’t let go of him, not even when he turns to hide his face in my chest. I just hold him tighter. I let a few tears slip out myself, but I find that I’m not as upset as I am angry. It isn’t fair. He’s done nothing to Martin. He doesn’t deserve this.

Bram doesn’t really cry with tears, he more so sobs with his whole body. As his shaking stops, I can see the shame manifesting itself on his face. “No,” I warn. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. What just happened was totally justified.” He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Tell you what. Next time I have a breakdown, I will call you so that you can judge the crap out of me.” He chuckles, but it’s more of a nervous chuckle than a feeling-better chuckle. “Seriously. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I guess Martin didn’t like what I said in class today,” Bram shrugs.

Something occurs to me in that moment. Martin has no proof. I mean, he has my emails, but he doesn’t have anything on Bram. “You could deny it.”

“What?” He asks.

“You could deny it. I could tell everyone that I’m gay, but that we’re not in a relationship. We could tell them Martin made that up because he was angry with you,” I offer.

Bram shakes his head. “No. I’m not ashamed of you. I didn’t exactly want it to happen like this, but I’m not going to lie about you.” He takes a deep breath and nods. “And I’m sure of this. You won’t be able to change my mind. Neither of us are ready for the world to know who we are, so we’ll be unprepared together. I’m not gonna lie. I think we’re going to have a rough couple of weeks, but it would be unbearable without you.”

I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. Maybe the universe feels bad for all the crap it poured on me the last couple of weeks. “You really want to be with me? Even though you got dragged into this because of me?” I confirm.

“I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me,” he promises.

“Always. I’ll want you always,” I warn.

“I can live with that.”

“You shouldn’t have to. I’m so sorry.” My chest feels tight. Even when I was young, guilt was one of the hardest feelings for me to sit with. I hate knowing that something I did hurt someone else and right now my secret is going to hurt just about everyone I care about.

“I know you are. I also know this isn’t your fault. Martin probably didn’t even realize he was right. He was just angry that I interrupted him in English,” Bram points out.

I sigh. “What happens now?” I ask.

“Well, I think our friends are probably still waiting for us at Waffle House. I imagine they’ll have a lot of questions for us, like whether we are official,” he says quietly. I can see he doesn’t really want to go. I don’t either.

I close my eyes, willing the world to slow down a little. “What if we don’t meet our friends today? What if we take a couple of days and… I don’t know… maybe, after Christmas we plan something with them and we answer all their questions then? Because… because...  well because no offense to our friends, but I think we need to prioritize telling our families. My parents would be crushed if they heard this from anyone but me. And I don’t know how your parents would feel, but I’d bet they’d rather hear it from you too. News travels fast around here and I can’t have this conversation with everyone today. I think we could still take this slow in our own way.”

He nods and looks relieved. “I’ll text Garrett and let him know we won’t be coming. You’re right. If there’s anyway we can slow it down… then yes. I wish we could slow down telling our families, but I guess that’s unavoidable at this point. My mom is going to be exhausted when she gets home and definitely won’t be able to handle this, so can we tell her tomorrow?”

“Then why don’t you get dinner at my place tonight?” I ask. “We can tell my family over dinner. My older sister is home for about a month on her winter break, so we won’t even have to try to Skype with her or anything like that.” Alice had gotten in pretty late last night, so I hadn’t seen her before I went to bed and she was still asleep when I woke up. It’s gonna be one hell of a homecoming, but there is nothing I can do about that.

He looks at me thoughtfully. “What time does your family usually eat dinner?” He asks curiously.

“Usually around seven.” I glance at the clock on his wall. It’s the first time I really try to take in his bedroom.

Thanks to the early dimissal, we have almost four hours to kill. Bram comes up with the genius idea of putting on a movie, so we could take some time to think about everything that’s happened. I stay in the hallway while he chooses a movie for us to watch. My mom sounds surprised when I tell her Bram would be over for dinner - I don’t invite people over often. Even Leah and Nick are rarely over for dinner, but she doesn’t say he can’t come over, so that’s something.

When I get to the living room, I am surprised to see he has picked out ‘the Princess Bride’. We’d watched that as a family several times when I was younger. We actually used to quote it as we watched it, so like most things, it kind of became a big deal for us. Though, seeing my dad quote ‘mawwaige is what brings us together today’ is actually one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life so it never felt like too big of a deal. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks. I nod, not sure if he’s ready to know how hardcore my family is about stuff like this. Before I have a chance to say something, he says, “good. That means we won’t have to pay much attention to it.” I feel myself blushing and I wish it was dimmer in his living room.

He’s sitting on one of the couches and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Should I sit on the same couch or on a different one? If I choose the same one, should I just lean into him or should I wait for him to pull me towards him or something? Am I supposed to ask for permission or should I just go for it and lean against him? I guess I’m overthinking it, because when glance at him, he has a blanket in one hand and is looking at me expectantly. I bring my feet up and snuggle into his chest as he covers me with the blanket. He starts to run his fingers through my hair and I begin to feel drowsy. My eyelids get heavier. And heavier. And heavier.

“Simon,” Bram whispers. I jolt awake. I’m a little embarrassed to realize I fell asleep.

“What? I wasn’t sleeping,” I say quickly. I glance at the screen and am surprised to see the end credits are rolling. Not only had I fallen asleep, but I had apparently slept for almost an hour and a half.

“Yes you were,” he tells me. He is smiling really big. “You’re really cute when you sleep.”

I roll my eyes. I seriously doubt that. Nora’s called me out for being an ugly sleeper before. And I’ve seen pictures - I usually sleep with my mouth wide open and with my head tilted in a weird direction. Sometimes there’s even drool involved (judging by his dry shirt I think I dodged a bullet this time). My only redemption is that I don’t snore. I don’t think there’s a more unattractive way to sleep, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. “Did you have some time to think?” I ask him curiously.

He nods and his smile only grows. “It’s weird. I was really angry at first. At you. At Martin. At myself for not realizing that this could happen. But I was more scared to lose you, so I pushed it down. Now I realize… coming out is supposed to be our thing, right? But if it were our thing, I don’t think it would ever happen. So maybe it’s a good thing that it’s out there. We still have to do the awkward coming out thing with our families, but once we do that, we get to focus on us and we don’t have to worry about telling people or what assumptions they might make about us.”

Now I’m sure he’s gone crazy. “Are you saying it’s a good thing that Martin outed us?”

“Not at all,” he says quickly. “I’m just saying it’s out now.”

I think I understand what he means. “It takes the decision off of us,” I guess.

He nods. “And some of the pressure. We still get to decide how to tell our family and how to explain this to our friends, but we don’t have to be so on guard.” I think that is stretching it, but I guess it is better to find the positive in a shitty situation than to sulk in misery.

I glance at the clock. “So what now? What do you think we need to figure out before you meet my parents. I have to warn you, they will ask you for your whole life history, so be prepared. They make a big deal about everything… and this is actually kind of a big deal to me, which means it will be an even bigger deal for them,” I explain. 

Bram looks at the coffee table for a minute. It occurs to me then that we had planned to get food earlier. I expect to be ravenous after skipping a meal, but being outed really put a damper on my appetite. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

I am so startled by the question, it takes me a minute to fully understand what he just asked me. “Yes,” I say. 

He grins. “Good.”

“So we’re… boyfriends?” I confirm.

He smiles right back to me. “Looks like it.”

“I really want to kiss you,” I tell him.

“Then kiss me.” There’s this magical needy tone to his voice that makes my stomach do some flip flops.

His eyes flutter closed and we kiss for maybe ten seconds before we hear a rattling at the door.

We jump apart and take seats on opposite ends of the couch. “I lost track of the time,” he whispers to me. “To be continued?”

I nod. My face is flushed and my heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m not sure if that’s from the kiss or from almost getting caught; either way it’s exhilarating.

His mom is practically a zombie as she comes in to let us know she is going to sleep. She calls me Steven before she goes to bed. I let it go. She looked dead on her feet and I know that when she meets me again tomorrow, she likely will never forget my name again.

We leave just a few minutes later and Bram has to coax me out of the car. Then it takes me a minute to open the door because I am giving myself a little pep talk to convince myself it is going to be fine. I don’t know why I am so nervous. I’d sworn up and down on multiple occasions that they would be fine with it, but now that I am actually about to do it, I am second guessing myself. Bram ends up being the one that pushes open my front door, because my brain has stopped communicating with the rest of my body.

“Hello,” I call when we walk in.

“In here,” my mom calls from the living room.

I am surprised when they are all sitting on the couches. It’s almost like they were waiting for us. “What’s going on?” I ask nervously.

“You tell us. When I told Nora your friend was joining us for dinner, she told us we should all wait in here for you because you had something you needed to tell us,” my dad tells me.

I glance at Nora. She must have seen the post. I feel like I should be angry - what right does she have to decide that I need to tell Alice and our parents? At the same time, this is something that may have a pretty big impact on us all and I did kind of put her in the position where she was completely blindsided by this. “You saw it?” I ask her quietly.

She nods. “I’m sorry Si. I didn’t know what else to do,” she tells me. It’s the eyes that do it. They are big and terrified… I’m pretty sure it’s some little sister super power and should be considered cheating, but my anger disappears the moment I see them.

“Will someone tell us what’s going on?” Alice asks grumpily. She never likes being out of the loop. “What do you need to tell us bub?”

I sigh. I can’t exactly tell them to sit down, because they are already seated. I have no idea how to start this. I close my eyes. “The thing is…” I can’t do it. I physically can’t get the words out.

“Let me guess. You’re pregnant,” my dad jokes.

I don’t know why, but that makes me so freaking angry. Sometimes I really appreciate that my dad tries to ease the tension in uncomfortable situations, but right now all I want is for him to take me seriously. There’s more bite than I expect when I look him in the eye and say, “I’m gay.”

The silence is pretty uncomfortable for a minute and then suddenly I think I prefer the silence. 

“Walk us through this,” my mom says. It’s probably her favorite therapist line when she doesn’t understand something. I shrug. I hate when she puts on her therapist hat. It’s actually the worst sometimes.

Then my dad asks, “was it the one with the braces or the eyebrow?”

I look at him cluelessly. “What?” I ask.

“Which one turned you?”

“Dad!” Alice says indignantly. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s a joke,” my dad counters.

“It’s an insensitive one,” Alice argues.

I sigh. I don’t know why I thought this would go differently. I watch them go back and forth for a minute, wondering if they’ll realize I’m still here. “Bram is my boyfriend. We’re going out to dinner,” I say. I don’t wait to see how they’ll take that before I turn and leave. I don’t look to see if Bram is going to follow me, because I’m sure he’s just as eager as I am to escape.

Sure enough, when I get outside I hear him shut the door behind us. He doesn’t say sorry, he just pries the keys from my hand and leads me to my car. I climb into the passenger seat on autopilot and nearly jump as my car roars to life.

Bram backs out and I have no idea where we’re going, but after a minute, he pulls over. I don’t realize that I’m crying until he hugs me and I see wet stains on his shirt. As soon as I’m aware of it, I become hysterical. I love my family, but sometimes I hate this. I hate that I can’t come out to them without it being this whole big thing. I hate that my dad makes jokes and Alice turns them into something they’re not. I hate that my mom instantly becomes my therapist and that Nora watches quietly. I. HATE. THIS.

I try taking deep breaths, but I can’t calm down enough for that to be effective. I feel like I may never stop crying, but eventually I do. And eventually I’m able to realize that I’m holding him way too tight for it to be comfortable. My fingers are stiff as I release my grip and stretch them.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I can’t look at him.

“Hey,” he says soothingly. “You did say I would get to be there for your next breakdown so I could ‘judge the crap out of you.’ Well consider your crap judged.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. Bram saying crap so awkwardly and the look on his face and the fact that I had actually given him permission to judge me are just adding up to be something hilarious.

He studies me for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

I shrug. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

“Okay. then what do you want to do? I’m assuming you don’t actually want to go out to dinner,” he says quietly.

“No,” I agree. “I definitely don’t want to run into any of our classmates.”

A knock on the window pulls us from our conversation. Nick is standing next to my window and Bram rolls it down for me. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

Nick fidgets uncomfortably. “We were actually heading to your house to kidnap you, but we saw you pulled over. Why aren’t you driving?”

I look at the floor of my car. “I told my family. It didn’t go well.”

“Let’s go,” Nick says after a moment.

“What?” I look up at him.

“We’re still going to kidnap you. We can follow you back to your place so you can drop off your car if you’d like,” he tells me. 

“Are you asking my permission to kidnap me?” I ask him incredulously.

“No. We’re kidnapping you-” He looks at Bram and I’m not sure what he sees, but he continues, “-and I guess Bram as well regardless. It’s a matter of whether you leave your car here or at your place,” he asserts.

I sigh. I guess I don’t really have much of a choice. One look at Bram tells me he’s totally on board with being kidnapped. “Leave it at my place.”

A few minutes later, Nick and Abby are shooting us amused looks as Nick drives to some unknown destination. Well, it’s unknown to me. Everytime I ask where we’re going, Nick just says, “you’ll see.”

When I see the rainbow flags in the windows, I understand why he didn’t tell me where we’re going until we’re literally walking up to the door. I turn around. “Nope,” I say.

“Yep,” Nick says. He pushes me lightly until I walk towards the bar.

“I don’t think we’re going to pass for 21,” I point out.

“Head held high,” Nick shrugs.

I look at Bram nervously and wordlessly, our hands find each other. The guy standing at the door smiles when he sees our entwined hands and lets all four of us in. I don’t realize until we get inside that it’s partially a restaurant, which is probably why that guy let us in without asking for any type of ID. A waitress leads us to a table right next to the dance floor.

The music is loud and there are far more people pressed against each other on the dance floor than I expect. Bram isn’t a particularly outgoing person, so I am surprised when he asks me if I want to dance after we place our orders. I hesitate only a moment before I follow him out to the dance floor.

He pulls me close to him and everything after that passes in a blur. Guys around us cheer us on and we do the same for them. There’s something exhilarating about the blanket acceptance that fills the bar. Everything about it from the music to all the guys that get it to the barista that gave me a free drink with a wink to Bram’s ensuing possessive jealousy makes this place totally magical.

Some guy is celebrating his engagement and he hands me a shot, thinking that I am one of his friends. He laughs for nearly a minute when he realizes that I’m not his friend and tells me to keep the shot. And then I get his whole life story - Jamie was born and raised in Atlanta, but lives in Massachusetts with his fiance, Angel. Jamie and Angel recently got a puppy and are hoping to have a short engagement so they can start the process for adopting. His fiance finds him and honestly I’ve never seen two people so ridiculously in love before… they are like the definition of life goals. I hope Bram and I are that lucky one day.

After he leaves, I raise my eyebrows at Bram. I’m still holding the shot Jamie gave me. I won’t drink it, no matter how much I want to, if it will make him uncomfortable. He had been okay with the drink from the bartender and he’d made sure I drank it slowly so that it wouldn’t hit me too hard (not that drinking slow helped; I’m pretty sure my headshot is under the definition for lightweight). But shots are are different; they are supposed to hit me hard.

“Not too much,” he says quietly.

“Not too much,” I agree. “Last one. I promise.” With that, I down the shot like a half a dozen guys are doing around me. It hurts and tears spring into my eyes as I cough. “Definitely the only one. Oh my god. That was freaking horrible.”

Bram chuckles and pulls me close to him again. Maybe it’s the shot, but I’m a little looser as I dance with him.

When Nick and Abby find us, I’m shocked to see that hours have passed. “We’ve got to go,” Nick tells me. “We got your chicken fingers to go.”

I follow Bram out. I’m still a little drunk, but it’s not so bad that I think my parents will notice. Plus, I have a thirty minute drive to sober up a little more.

Bram and I split the chicken fingers while Nick drives. When Nick pulls into my driveway, Bram gets out behind me. I’m not sure how he’s going to get home, because I’m certainly not driving him like this. Maybe he’ll have to stay the night. That doesn’t seem so bad. Before I go towards my house, I knock on Nick’s window. “Thanks… for everything. For being so cool with this and not asking questions. I really needed a night like this.”

“Anytime,” Nick says seriously. He hesitates before he puts his hand on my shoulder. I stare at his hand. Nick never touches me. “I want you to know, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still my best friend no matter who you like.”

“Thanks.” I know I’m blushing, but I’m powerless against it.

I wait until Nick reverses out of my driveway before I turn to Bram. “So are you staying the night?” Maybe I’m drunker than I thought because I’m not typically such a blunt person.

Bram grins. “Or you can stay with me, but we only have your car and you’re definitely not driving.”

“Agreed.” I put my arms out and try to walk in a straight line as if I’m taking a sobriety test. There’s no question about it. I would fail big time. I chuckle. “Let’s stay at your place. I don’t want to deal with my parents.”

“That sounds like a plan. You’ll want to bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush, because we should probably tell my mom in the morning,” Bram tells me. “And there’s no way you’re going anywhere near her smelling like alcohol.”

I nod and look towards my house. It’s been my sanctuary on many occasions, but right now, it feels like a prison. “In and out,” I say quietly.

“In and out,” he agrees.

I ignore my mom as she calls my name when I walk in.  _ In and out _ , I remind myself. I turn to the stairs and as I head up to the second floor, I can hear her following me.

“Simon, talk to me,” she begs. Something in her tone of voice makes me freeze. I’m so close to my bedroom. The door is slightly ajar so all I need to do is push it open and I have a direct escape. But I don’t do that.

Instead, I spin around to face her outside of my bedroom. Bram is standing right behind her and looks like he has no idea what he’s supposed to do. I guess he’s in kind of an unfortunate situation because he doesn’t want to upset me and he doesn’t want my family to hate him. “Why?” I ask. I sound angrier than I mean to, but this is the definition of pushing things too far. Why couldn’t she just give me the night to cool down?

My mom looks stunned and at first, I think it’s the tone of my voice. “Are you drunk?” I guess I’m not as subtle as I thought.

“No,” I say defensively. And I’m not technically drunk. I’m just not sober.

“So you haven’t been drinking?” Her eyes narrow. Out of the corner of my eye I see Nora standing in her doorway. I’m pretty sure my dad and Alice are within earshot as well.

“I had a drink at a bar, okay?” I snap.

“No! That’s not okay,” she yells. It takes a lot to make my mom yell. I can probably count on one hand how many times she’s raised her voice at me. A neutral look settles on her face as she calms herself down. “I get that this is an unfamiliar situation for you and that you’re used to repressing your emotions, but that doesn’t justify your behavior. I looked up some wellness counselors in the area. A lot of them specialize in LGBT issues. Maybe you would wa-”

“Can you just stop? Stop doing the therapist thing. I don’t want to talk to a therapist and I really don’t want to talk to you.” I know my words hurt, but she does a pretty good job of hiding that.

“I’m not doing the therapist thing. I’m being your mom,” she shoots back.

I feel the fight leave me. “Do you know what’s sad? You probably don’t even realize there’s a difference between the two.” I push open the door to my bedroom and Bram slips in before I shut and lock the door.

I go to my dresser on autopilot. Bram waits until I finish shoving clothes in my backpack to speak. “You need to talk to her before we leave,” he says quietly.

“No. Not tonight,” I whisper.

“You have to,” Bram presses. “I know that this really sucks, but we can’t start a relationship like this. Do you think your parents are ever going to trust us if you don’t talk to them? I can actually see a future with you and I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

“I really can’t tonight,” I tell him. “I just… I’ll say something I’ll regret and my mom will act like my therapist and my dad will keep making jokes and we might get to a place we can’t come back from.”

“Tomorrow then?” He asks.

I nod. “I promise. We’ll talk to them for hours if you want. Just give me a day,” I plead.

He hugs me. “I’m sorry. I can’t pretend to know what this feels like and I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. We’ll wait as long as you need to.”

“Thanks.” I take a deep breath and Bram’s holding me just tight enough that I feel like I can hold myself together until we’re out of the house.

I grab my bag and Bram confirms he still has my keys. My mom and dad are standing by our front door. “I’m going to Bram’s,” I grumble. 

I try to side step them, but my dad moves and blocks my path. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on with you,” my dad says.

“Nothing’s going on with me.” At least nothing he isn’t fully aware of.

“This isn’t like you.” My dad looks like he really wants to believe that and somehow that makes my anger bubble up again.

“How would you know?” I ask. “Do you know anything about me? You certainly didn’t know anything about me all those years you were making gay jokes. Seventeen years. You’ve been making gay jokes around your gay son for seventeen years!” I walk around my dad and there’s nothing to stop me from leaving the house. Bram even tries to pull me a little closer to the door, but I spin around so I’m facing my dad again. “And today, when I actually find it in me to share this thing about me - this thing that I’ve spent four years hiding from you for this exact reason - you decide that the appropriate response is to be dismissive of my sexuality and assume that some freaking girl could have turned me gay.” I totally stole that line from Nick. He’d been in a particularly philosophical mood on the way to the gay bar and it just seemed appropriate right now. “Even if you were joking, how freaking fucked up is it that no one in this house can have a serious conversation? Which was just the cherry on top of a really fan-fucking-tastic conversation.” I usually try not to swear at my parents, but that went right out the window. I turn to my mom. “As if this whole shitfest isn’t difficult enough, right when I need you to be my mom and to tell me that this isn’t going to freaking change anything, you turn into my fucking therapist. ‘Tell me how you feel’. ‘Walk me through this’. ‘Talk to an LGBT therapist’. I’m not your patient and I don’t need a therapist. I’m not working through sexuality issues. I know I am gay and I’m not ashamed to be gay. I’m just over it being this huge thing and no one in this goddamn family knows how to let things like this go.” I take a deep breath. I’m actually panting a little bit because I forgot to breathe the whole time I was talking. My mom and dad look shocked and for the first time, my mom has no idea what to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Bram ushers me out the door, I don’t resist this time.

“I think maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” he says evenly.

“Yeah, well like our secret it’s out now whether we want it to be or not,” I say bitterly.

Bram hesitates. “You know your parents love you, right? They may not know what to do right now, but they love you.”

“I know,” I assure him. And I do. I never doubted that my parents love me. “And it’s not that. I love my family and I know they love me, but they kind of suck when it comes to things like this. This isn’t the first time they’ve blown something completely out of proportion and turned it into a big family thing. It’s the same thing every time, but that doesn’t make it easier. Like, I can’t change my socks without it being a big deal and I’m tired of it. I don’t want this to change how they see me.”

“I get that,” he says quietly. “And I hate to say this, but I don’t think your family is going to change no matter how hard that is on you. I can’t tell you what to do with that, but you need to figure it out. Because… I plan on being with you long term and that means I’m going to be with your family long-term. I’m with you 100%, but I need to know where we stand with them.” I look down at my shoes. “You don’t need to tell me right now, but before you come back tomorrow…”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “I really will figure this out tomorrow. I just need some time.”

He kisses my forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you back to my place.”

I hold his hand the entire time he drives. I never noticed how soft his skin is before. When we get back to his place, he brings a couple of blankets and pillows into the living room. He starts to fluff out the blankets and pile them on top of each other.

“You know, Garrett has slept on my floor more times than I can count and even after I realized I was gay, I didn’t think anything of it. But with you it feels like such a betrayal of trust,” he tells me.

I frown as I look up at him. “I really hope our relationship is a little different than yours and Garrett’s,” I point out. “I’d think that would make it seem worse because there may come a day when we will actually be doing something she won’t approve of behind closed doors.”

Bram looks at the ground. It’s weird, because it’s obvious he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t blush in an obvious way or anything like that, but there’s something different about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on. “Do you think we should talk about that?” He asks uncertainly.

I look at the carpet. I have a feeling I can’t say what I need to say if I can see his reaction. “We said a lot of things in our emails and through note passing, but here’s the thing. I want to wait a little before we get to the mind-blowing sex part. Let’s wait a month and then see where we’re at. And until then, let’s focus on us without sex.”

“I actually agree that we should wait.” The relief is obvious in his voice. “It was really easy to talk about sex when I didn’t know for sure who you were. I’m not ready for this yet. Soon though, I think, so I would like to propose a slight change. Three weeks.”

“What difference does a week make?” I ask him curiously.

He looks down at the floor. I love when he looks embarrassed. It transforms his face and makes me want to kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. “You didn’t figure out what the 118 meant, did you?”

I frown. “118… oh, from your email?” I confirm. He nods. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“It’s my birthday,” he explains softly.

“But what does that…” I trail off as I do some math in my head. I know I’m blushing, because my face actually feels like it’s on fire. Today is December 19th, which would put our one month marker at January 19th. “One day short, huh?”

He nods. “Just in case we’re ready… I’d like to talk about it before.” He shrugs.

I can’t help but laugh. Of all the things I expected Bram to want for his birthday, this wasn’t even on the list. “Three weeks then,” I agree. I fluff out the last blanket and watch as it falls to the ground.


	6. The Next Day

~ Chapter 6 - The Next Day~

 

I don’t know what time we fall asleep, but it’s long after the sun rises. I feel like I missed out on so much when I didn’t know who he was. He’s funny and kind and is so bold when he teases me. He’s practically perfect and even his imperfections make him so much more endearing.

I don’t sleep well. I don’t know if I’m anxious about officially meeting his mom or if I’m upset about my parents or frustrated with myself. Now that my mind isn’t clouded by alcohol, I feel like I was a complete idiot. How could I say those things to my parents? I don’t think I even fully meant them. I was just angry.

When I give up on sleep around 8, I know I’m in for a long day. I have to sit down and talk to my parents today. I have to.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth to get the alcohol taste out. I change and I feel so much better after that. When I get out of the bathroom, I hear footsteps in the kitchen. Thinking Bram must have woken up, I walk in. A woman stops short when she sees me and for a split second she looks terrified. “Who are you?” She asks sharply. She glances behind her at the landline and I wonder what she thinks I’m doing here.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Greenfeld,” I say quickly. I’m suddenly grateful that Bram made me shower last night, because I can’t imagine how much worse this would be if I still smelled like alcohol. “I got into a fight with my parents last night, so Bram let me stay the night. We slept in your living room. You were asleep when we got in…” I trail off. This is the worst first impression I could have made. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you were Bram. I’m Simon.”

She studies me for a minute. “You were here yesterday afternoon,” she realizes.

I nod. “We didn’t know I was staying the night until much later. I went home and…” I close my eyes. I can’t talk about this with her. I don’t even know her. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She purses her lips. “I’m making pancakes,” she finally says. “I would appreciate some help.” She opens this giant, ancient book filled with handwritten recipes. “This used to be my mother-in-laws,” she tells me when she opens to a page. “It started with her great-great grandmother. She was a wonderful baker and when she passed it down to her daughter, it became a tradition to pass it down from mother to daughter. Generation to generation adding recipes and using the recipes of their ancestors. My mother-in-law only had two sons, so when I married Bram’s father, she gifted it to me. After the divorce, I tried to give it back to her, but she insisted I keep it.”

“That was nice of her,” I say quietly. I don’t really understand why she’s telling me this, but I’ve never been good at getting in someone else’s headspace.

“It was,” she agrees. “It’s because she loves me very much.” She begins mixing stuff together in a big, ceramic mixing bowl. “And even when things didn’t work out with her son, she made sure things worked out between me and her. Because at the end of the day, we’re family and there’s nothing family can do that is unforgivable.” I finally get why she’s telling me this. She has that mom super power and somehow knows that I said something really shitty to my parents last night. I look down at the table. “Do you want to play panpictionary?”

I look up at her. “What?” 

“When I was young my mom and I would make pancakes and we would turn it into pictionary. One of us would make a shape and the other would have to guess what it is.” She meticulously pours the batter on the pan. “You have until I flip it to guess correctly. You can make as many guesses as you want.”

I frown as I look at the shape. It looks like a poorly formed circle to me. “A potato?” I guess. 

She shakes her head. “Not even close.”

I tilt my head to look at it from a different direction. It looks a little more rectangular from this direction. “A book.”

“Nope.” She looks pretty pleased with herself which makes me think she’s really enjoying this.

I frown and lean as close to the pan as I safely can. “A car.” It’s bubbling, so I’m pretty sure she’s going to flip it soon and it’s the only thing I can think of that can be both square and circular.

“Yes,” she says surprised.

“Wait, really?” I ask. I had just guessed it for the sake of getting one last guess in. She nods and flips the pancake. “No offense Mrs. Greenfeld, but that looks nothing like a car.”

“Yet it was one of your guesses,” she points out.

I can’t really argue with that logic. I grab the spoon she used for her design and try to make a tree. It kind of looks like a tree. Definitely more than hers looked like a car.

“Dumbbell,” she guesses.

“Not even close,” I tell her with a grin. 

“Lollipop,” she says.

“I think that’s a little closer.” I frown. It’s better than dumbbell.

“A flower.”

“Much closer.”

She frowns and stares at my pancake. I’m kind of worried she’s gonna let it burn, but she flips it. “What was it?”

“A tree,” I tell her.

She groans. “Of course it was.” I didn’t expect it to, but her game is kind of working. I feel a little better as she moves it around a bit to it will brown correctly.

After a minute, she puts it on a plate and makes a stick figure. This will be easy at least. “A person,” I say confidently.

“Be more specific,” she tells me.

I gape at her. “There are like seven billion people it could be,” I protest.

She grins. “That’s a lot of people, so you better start guessing.”

I try to think of actors that my mom likes. “George Clooney.” My mom has joked that George Clooney is her real love. My dad always nods and tells her he’d pick George Clooney over himself too. It’s one of those sickening, so-in-love things that they do. I  push those thoughts away. I feel guilty enough.

“Too famous,” she says.

I look up at the ceiling. Who could it possibly be? Less famous than George Clooney. That could be so many people. “I don’t know,” I concede.

“It’s Bram,” she says with a big smile.

I chuckle. “I guess that should have been pretty obvious.”

“When he was little and we played this, he would always guess soccer ball. I once made a smiley face and his very first guess was soccer ball.”

“Aww. Little Bram was so cute,” I say. I can almost picture it.

“He still is,” she says fondly.

I catch myself before I agree with her. I don’t want to give anything away until Bram is here and is ready to start that conversation. She takes the pancake off and I pick up the spoon. I’m grinning as I make a little circle.

She looks at me and her face softens. “Soccer ball,” she guesses.

I nod and chuckle. “Soccer ball,” I agree.

She makes her shape. “Heart.”

She nods and when she puts the spoon in the bowl with the batter, I don’t try to reach for it. I don’t know if it’s the smell of cooking pancakes or how kind she is or even that she so perfectly distracted me by turning pancakes into a game, but I suddenly need to talk about it.

“Mrs. Greenfeld?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“About what you said before,” I say slowly. “Did you mean it? That there’s nothing family can do that’s unforgivable?”

“Yes, I really believe that. I think sometimes it takes time to let go of anger and that the trust may not be the same after that, but at the end of the day, family is family.”

“Even if they say something really bad?” I ask quietly.

“Even then,” she confirms.

I take a deep breath. “What if someone told their family something really difficult about themselves? Something that they’ve been keeping secret for years. And when they’re family acted… exactly like their family, they lost it? And what if they kind of meant the things they said, but they never meant to actually tell their parents that?” 

She raises her eyebrows at me. She has Bram’s eyes and his same way of looking like she can see right down to my soul. “I’m not going to pretend to know what happened or say that things will get better right away, but I will say this. There’s nothing about yourself that you need to apologize for,” she says softly. She pours some pancake mix in the pan and I guess I effectively ended our game. I watch in fascination as after a minute, they start to bubble. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but it’s particularly entrancing right now.

I take a deep breath. “I told my family that I’m gay.”

She doesn’t turn to face me until she flips her pancakes. Once she does, she leans against the counter. She has a weird look in her eyes. I would almost say she looks excited, but that literally makes no sense. “And they didn’t take it well?”

I shake my head. “It’s not like they have a problem with me being gay, but my dad makes jokes when he’s uncomfortable and my mom’s a therapist so she’s really big about talking about feelings. It was a little overwhelming when it was happening all together and… I threw that back in their faces. It wasn’t pretty.” I don’t mention that I was drunk. I feel like that would be a little too much for her.

“As a parent, I understand that sometimes my child will say something they don’t mean to because they are upset or hurting. I’m sorry that your parents didn’t take it well, but you seem like a wonderful young man. The fact that you feel bad about what you said to them says a lot about you.” She looks thoughtful. “Do you plan on talking to them.”

I nod. “When I go home today,” I tell her. I shiver. “I have a lot to apologize for. I’m just afraid that… maybe it was too much. And I can’t exactly tell them I didn’t mean it, because I did. I’ve felt that way for awhile. I just… I never wanted them to know.”

“I can’t speak for your parents, but I can tell you there’s nothing Bram could ever do that I wouldn’t be able to forgive him for. It might take a little time and you might have to rebuild your relationship with your parents, but if you want it to get better, it will get better. You just have to put in the work,” she tells me. “And you probably have to find a way to not ‘lose it’ on them when you do.” She has a small smile on her face and honestly, something about it just makes me feel like everything’s going to be fine. “It’s our job as a parent to protect our kids, not the other way around. I imagine your parents would rather you be upfront and honest with them than bottling up how you’re feeling to protect them.”

“Thanks.” My eyes burn and I quickly wipe away the tear that slipped from my eye. She hesitates a moment before she hugs me. I expect it to feel weird or uncomfortable - I mean, she’s someone else’s mom, but it’s just like hugging Leah. I feel safe in her embrace. 

She pulls back and wipes my cheek with a towel. I’d forgotten about the pancakes, but she takes them off the pan and puts them on a large serving plate. “How are your friends taking it? Do you have a boyfriend that you can talk to about this stuff.”

“My friends are pretty great. I haven’t seen all of them, but two of them took us out to dinner last night and of course Bram has been really supportive,” I tell her. I intentionally avoid answering her boyfriend question.

She smiles appreciatively. I can tell she’s about to ask me something, but she doesn’t get the chance to. 

“What’s going on in here?” I turn to see Bram standing in the doorway. He’s looking between us confused.

“We made pancakes,” I tell him with a grin. I’m pretty sure it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. “And played pictionary.”

He smiles big as if me making pancakes with his mom is the best thing that could have happened. “Did she cheat like she usually does?”

“I do not cheat at panpictionary.” She pretends to look insulted.

“She totally makes everything look like a soccer ball and then nope. It’s a bird or a plane…”

“Or superman?” I guess.

Bram chuckles and he has this sleepy smile on his face that makes him look so freaking cute. How is it that some people wake up like this? “How long have you been up?” He asks.

I glance at the clock. “A little over an hour,” I tell him. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s been that long. Time really flew while we were playing that game.

“Your friend seems pretty great,” his mom says. She has that really weird almost-excited look in her eyes again. “I was surprised to see him this morning.”

“Sorry,” Bram says. He looks down at the floor. “It was kind of a spur of the moment decision and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“He filled me in on that,” she assures him. “Can you set the table?”

I help him and within minutes, the pancakes are on the table and we all have heaping plates. I’m sitting next to Bram and his mom is sitting across from us. I take a bite. “Whoever’s recipe this is, is a genius,” I comment. The pancakes are so perfectly fluffy.

“It’s mine, so thank you,” she says with a grin.

“They’re perfect,” I compliment. I glance at Bram who hasn’t tried to touch his pancakes. I nudge him with my knee and he looks at me nervously. I rest the back of my hand on his knee and he entwines his fingers into mine. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

“Mom?” Bram asks. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me and I don’t look away from him. “I’m gay.”

“It’s about time. I thought I was going to have to come out for you,” she tells him.

He looks up at her as his face contorts with pure shock. “You knew? How?” He asks.

She looks at him hesitantly. “There are some things you pick up on as a mother. The way you always got uncomfortable whenever someone asked you about girlfriends, how defensive you'd get about not dating in high school, and some other things. It really started to click for me last year when that girl flirted with you throughout Christmas mass last year and you had no idea.”

“You never said anything,” Bram says quietly.

“This is your thing. You needed to tell me in your own time and I didn’t want to push you. I’m so grateful that you finally told me and I love you no matter what,” she promises him.

I feel like I might cry and it’s taking everything in my power to hold that in. I know that I shouldn’t compare myself to him, but I can’t help it as I think about how different my coming out had been.

“Even if… I have a boyfriend?” Bram asks. His mom looks at him with these piercing eyes and we both know what she’s waiting for. “Simon and I are together.”

A huge smile crosses her face and I realize now that she had her suspicions about that while we were making pancakes. Her interest in my life made so much sense now.

She gets up and hugs him. “Even then.”

I don’t say much when I leave Bram’s. His mom lets me stay until after dinner, but then she tells me I can’t avoid my parents forever. I’m dreading going home and even when his mom tells me I have to leave, I stall. I stand with Bram outside my car for several minutes and I hug him a little tighter than I mean to. My voice is stuck in my throat and I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous for something in my life. Which is really saying something.

I promise him that I’ll call him after I talk to my parents and reluctantly drive away. I don’t drive a single mile per hour over the speed limit and I don’t go through a single yellow light, yet somehow the drive is quicker than it’s ever been before. How does that even make sense?

It’s dark when I get home and I stand outside my front door for almost ten minutes before I manage to push it open and step inside. I’m barely breathing because I’m so scared for this conversation. I hesitantly walk towards the living room. When I walk in, everyone stops talking.

“Nora, Alice,” my mom says. She doesn’t even need to finish. They’re already standing up and are on their way out. Neither of them looks at me as they leave.

I’m in so much trouble and the worst part is, I deserve whatever they’re about to say. I probably deserve more than they’re going to give me.

Once Alice and Nora are out of earshot, I look at the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I was really upset yesterday. This kid posted to the tumblr and he outed me to the whole school and I was really angry and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m just the worst. I’m so freaking sorry.”

I’m crying a little, but I don’t try to wipe away my tears - I’m starting to think Martin may have actually broken something in me, because I’ve cried more over the last few days than I have in my whole freaking life. I have this dry, burning feeling in my chest that always accompanies guilt. Because I am being honest when I say they don’t deserve what I said. I may have meant it, but I never wanted them to know. Everything comes rushing back to me in that moment and all my anger towards Martin and all my fear of what school will be like when we go back builds up until I feel like I might actually explode.

Because I’m not looking at them, I’m surprised when both of them hug me. I instinctively lean into them and practically collapse in their embrace. Before I know it, I’m hysterical. My mom is kissing the top of my head and my dad is rubbing my back and they’re holding me tight as I fall to pieces. All I can think about is what Mrs. Greenfeld said and how right she is, because apparently my parents have forgiven me for what I said and if they haven’t, they’re at least willing to push it aside for now. I don’t know how long they hold me like this, I just know they hold me until I’ve gotten everything out. Even then, they keep their arms around me until I’m ready to pull back.

“Feel better?” My mom asks gently.

“No,” I say honestly. I expect to, but the only difference I notice is that instead of feeling like my emotions are going to make me explode, I feel exhausted. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said. I feel really bad about it. I never meant to hurt either of you.”

My mom glances at my dad. “Before we talk about last night… and we will talk about last night. In detail. Excruciating detail. There will have to be consequences. But before we get into that, we need you to know that we love you very much. Nothing you could do or say to us will change that,” my mom tells me seriously.

“We realize that sometimes, we can come across as overbearing. I don’t always pick the best times to make jokes and sometimes our work lives overflow a little into our parenting style, but that doesn’t mean we love you any less. If we’re ever overwhelming you, we want you to be able to talk to us about this stuff. We want to work it out with you, but we can’t do that if we don’t know that something we’re doing is upsetting you,” my dad says.

“And here’s the thing. No matter how upset you are with us, you don’t get to just disappear,” my mom says quietly. “Do you know what was going through my head when you and Bram didn’t come back for hours? You dropped your car off and left and I… I thought about how you just came out. I thought about how you must have felt after coming out to us. I thought about how easy it would have been for you to…” My mom cuts herself off and she’s crying in earnest now. “I’m not making assumptions about how you are handling this and I’m not trying to be your therapist. What I do know is that LGBT teens are five times as likely to attempt to kill themselves than heterosexual teens. It’s even worse in conservative states. That’s why I spent hours looking up support groups around here. I was terrified Simon. I was terrified that I would lose my baby. Because for all I knew, you have had those thoughts and you just didn’t feel like you could talk to us about them. For all we knew, we could have pushed you over the edge last night. For all we knew, we could have broken you.”

There’s no stopping the tears that are slipping through my eyes. I feel like shit. It’s not even about what I said last night. It’s about the fact that I caused my mom to feel this afraid and I can see that in her. I can see that she’s actually terrified she might lose me. I never imagined that she would think I’d do something like that. I know that some people really struggle with that, but I never have and I never really gave it much thought. But I get where she’s coming from. I kept my sexuality from them, so they have no way of knowing what else I kept from them. “I’m so sorry,” I manage to get out. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. Well, not intentionally.” I see from her face that that’s not helping, so I take a deep breath. “I never meant to scare you. I just needed some space. I don’t think about doing something like that, but I should have realized that it’s real for a lot of kids. You know better than most that it’s real for a lot of kids and I was so wrapped up in myself I just… I never thought about it. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make this better.”

“I just need you to tell us when you’re going somewhere,” she says seriously. “Especially when you’re upset. I never want to feel that scared again.”

“I know. I’m sorry. And I know when I came back I said some things. I didn’t meant to-” I start to say.

“You did mean it though,” my dad interrupts.

“Yes, I meant what I said, but I didn’t mean to say it,” I explain. I sigh in frustration. “It’s not a big deal. It’s who you are and you shouldn’t have to change. How I deal with that is on me.”

“It’s on all of us,” my mom corrects. Her voice still sounds shaky as if she’s just managing to hold it together. “Sweetheart, we appreciate that you don’t want us to change, but that doesn’t mean we can’t compromise. If we’re doing something that you have trouble with, we’ll meet in the middle. You shouldn’t sacrifice your peace of mind for us.” She shakes her head. “We will talk about that tomorrow. We just wanted to make sure you knew that we love you very, very much and our lives would be irreparably broken without you in it. I know you say you’re not going anywhere and I know you hate me being in therapist mode, but I need you to do something for us. I need you to tell us if that changes. If you feel like you’re being backed into a corner or like you have no way out, I need you to talk to us.  And I’m going to be doing weekly check-ins with you. You don’t have to like it, but I need to do that.”

I nod. I feel like I’ll hate every second of sitting with my mom and talking about my feelings, but… I suddenly get an idea. “Did you mean it when you said we could compromise? Do you think that maybe instead of being here for that weekly check-in, we could go get dinner or do something together? I hate the idea of you being my therapist and I think it would help both of us to spend more time together outside of this house.”

Her smile is huge and she starts crying again. I don’t know what I said to make her cry, but she nods and hugs me so I think it’s maybe a good cry this time. “Get some sleep,” my mom whispers. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” She kisses my forehead before she and my dad leave the living room. I wait until they ascend the stairs before I pull out my phone.

I don’t know if Bram is still awake, so I send him a text message. Within ten seconds, he is calling me. “Yes, I’m awake,” he says when I answer my phone. Something about his tone makes me feel so warm inside. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually just a phone call away now.

“That or you’re an exemplary sleep talker,” I tease.

“How’d it go?” He asks curiously.

“It was weird,” I tell him quietly. I’m not sure how much of it to tell him, but before I make the conscious decision, I’m telling him everything.

“You’re kidding,” Bram says. “Is this something we should talk about?”

“Not unless there’s something you need to tell me,” I assure him. 

He’s quiet for a long time. “There’s nothing right now, but…”

I sit up straight in my seat, my heart pounding in my chest. “But?”

“You say that you’re fine right now, but are you really? You got drunk last night and you were just outed against your will. You’ve spent most of the last two days crying. I think that’s where your mom was coming from and maybe I should have realized that as well.”

“No,” I say assertively. “I’m serious about this. Yes, last night was a mistake, but…”

“But?” He presses.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve just never thought it was an option. If that changes, I promise to tell you. And you have to do the same.”

“Of course.” He’s silent for awhile. “Sorry. I’m sure you didn’t need that after your parents.”

“No it’s fine. Really. Just distract me. I don’t want to think about this anymore,” I tell him.

“Okay… What are your thoughts on going on a date?” He asks.

I stare at the wall in my living room, fairly certain I heard him wrong. “I… what?”

“A date,” he repeats.

Okay, so I heard him right. “You want to go out with me in public?” I ask.

There is a long pause on the other end. “Yes,” he says softly. “Eventually…I would like to take you to a movie or something.”

I guess I did ask him to distract me and he certainly provides one hell of a distraction. “That sounds really nice,” I whisper. “What would we do on this date?”

“Well, no offense, but this is Georgia. So for obvious reasons we’re not gonna parade around and make out on street corners, but I imagine other than that, it would be the same as a date with anyone. You have more experience with that that I do.” I don’t feel like he is trying to call me out on having girlfriends or anything like that. More so it feels like he actually has no idea what he is doing. It’s kinda cute.

“I don’t really know how to do the dating thing. I think I’ve been on one date in my life and she dumped me that night,” I tell him.

“No way. What happened?”

“I was deeply closeted and she told me she wanted to sleep with me. I said no, because quite frankly, I knew I was gay and the idea of having sex with a girl was terrifying. I’m pretty sure we were at Waffle House and when I told her I never wanted to sleep with her, she got up and left. We never really talked again.” I wince. That had been rough. She used to glare at me in the hallway. I wonder what she thinks now that she knows I’m gay. Has she put two and two together to realize that I said no that night because I’m gay? She’d left crying and I had attracted a lot of angry looks while I waited for the check. Mostly, I remembered feeling relieved when it was all over. I never really liked Carys, I’d just had no idea how to say no when she asked me out.

“What about your other girlfriends?” He asks.

“In eighth grade, we went to that dance which you know ended really freaking well. And our freshman year, Anna and I mostly just hung out. Leah, Nick, and Morgan were always there, so I don’t really count any of those as dates,” I explain. I weirdly feel like I should get everything out now so that we don’t have to talk about this ever again. “Carys and I were the same way. I’m pretty sure she only wanted to go on that date, because she wanted to talk about sex.”

“Okay. So I guess that could be a good thing. I mean neither of us have anything good to compare it to, so even if our first date sucks, it’s gonna be the best first date either of us have ever had,” Bram points out.

I can’t help myself as I laugh a little. That is what my parents would call Simon logic. “I guess that’s something to look forward to then. I think I’d like to go on those really cliche dates. Like dinner and a movie, picnic in a park, or ice-skating in the winter,” I suggest. Carys has suggested mini golf, but wanted nothing to do with it at the time. I kind of used to hate those ideas, but they don’t sound so bad if I’ll be doing them with Bram.

“Those sound pretty fun,” he agrees. His phone sounds weirdly staticy for a minute. Through the static, I hear, “I’m about to ask him. Will you calm down?” The static goes away, but his voice sounds muffled when he speaks. “Sorry. You’re on speakerphone now.”

“Hi Simon,” his mom says.

“Hi Mrs. Greenfeld.”

“My mother would like to invite you to go to church with us on Christmas,” Bram tells me.

I freeze. “Church.” I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to church. I remember that my grandma took me once when I was younger and she brought a coloring book so I wouldn’t be bored. I was anyway. It was awful. And I doubt adults or almost adults are allowed to color during church. Or maybe Mrs. Greenfeld would be cool with that… “Um… church.”  I wonder if I’ll have to wear a suit and tie. How will I know where to sit? Is there assigned seating? “Hmm… church.”

“Is repeating it helping?” Bram asks amused.

“No. Isn’t that like a big step?” I ask.

“Kind of,” Bram admits. “But my mom really wants you to see this part of our lives. We go to church every Sunday and she figures Christmas, which is one of the holidays that even people that don’t attend church year round attend on, would be a good experience for you.”

“Don’t compare him to  _ those _ people,” I hear in the background.

Bram chuckles. “I’m not comparing him to  _ those _ people,” Bram says, imitating his mom. “I’m trying to make him feel better about going.”

“Who are  _ those  _ people?” I ask uncertainly.

“I’ll explain that to you later,” Bram promises. “So can you come?”

“I’ll have to ask my parents, but I don’t think it will be an issue,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says happily.

“Okay, well I’m going to get some sleep,” his mom tells us. “Goodnight Simon.”

“Night Mrs. Greenfeld.”

“You’re officially off speakerphone,” Bram tells me.

“So I guess this will be our first Christmas together, huh?” I say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Guess so.”

“Do you think we need to set some sort of ground rules?” I ask uncertainly. I’d never been in a relationship with someone during Christmas. 

“Will you listen to me if I say no gifts?” Bram asks.

“Probably not,” I admit. I actually have a pretty good idea of what to give him.

“Then let’s establish a budget,” he suggests.

“Easy enough,” I tell him. “Let’s go homemade.”

Bram makes a weird noise. “Yeah, so homemade might work for you, but I’m not so great with the art stuff.”

“I don’t care,” I say seriously. “You could make me a popsicle stick box and I would love it more than anything you can buy.” It sounds corny, but I actually mean it. There’s something really appealing about knowing that he is going to put time and effort into creating something meant for me that wouldn’t exist otherwise.

He sighs. “Fine, but if you hate it, that’s on you,” he warns me.

“I could never hate it when I love you so much,” I assure him. I’m smiling big and I wish I could see him. I’d bet that he ducks his head at that, even just hearing it over the phone.


	7. Tis The Season

~ Chapter 7 - Tis The Season ~

 

True to my mom’s words, we talk the next day. In excruciating detail. But I get off easy and I know it. I’m not even grounded. And she readily enough agrees to talking with Bram’s mom to fine tune our Christmas plans.

My mom has two conditions to me spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with Bram and his family. Bram had to spend Christmas Eve until church and the evening of Christmas with us. His mom agreed to both. We had spent hours at my house with his mom on speakerphone fine tuning our Christmas plans.

Who knew holidays could be so stressful? But Christmas was a really big freaking deal with his family. He usually goes to midnight mass, which actually starts at like 10:30pm so I don’t understand why he calls it a midnight mass, and mass the next morning and I will be attending both, which is how my mom finagled in Christmas Eve. 

I swear, adults complicate this so much more than it needs to be complicated. But Bram and I kind of left them to figure out how they wanted to split us up since it clearly mattered a lot more to them than it did to us. We just cared that we got to see each other on Christmas, especially since we’ll be spending eight long days apart when he goes to stay with his dad in Savannah. We both know that it’s too soon for us to even think about going away together for that long, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

To say I am terrified for church is an understatement. Because mass is so late AND so early - who designed mass schedules? - I’m gonna spend a good chunk of the next 12 hours in church. Which is kind of hilarious when you think about it.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I’m frantically packing for church. My mom laughs for a full 30 minutes as I rifle through my closet to figure out what to wear. She’s no help, so I call Bram.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey, you’re on speakerphone,” I say even though I’m sure he figured that out when he could hear my mom laughing. “I’m trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow.”

I didn’t let him leave last night until he okayed an outfit for tonight, so I knew I was good to go with that.

“I told you before, we don’t really have a dress code. It’s Christmas which means we dress a little nicer, but you don’t have to go all out. I mean pajama pants or sweats are out of the question, but a pair of slacks and a clean shirt will do just fine,” Bram assures me.

“Do I need to wear a tie?” I only have a handful of ties and I’m wearing my nicest one tonight, but I figure I can raid my dad’s closet for a more professional one if my tie with pizza slices on it won’t suffice.

“That’s your choice,” he says. He sounds like he’s about to laugh.

I ignore that. “So, I read this welcome on the church’s website that I should be prepared to accept Christ into my heart during holy communion. What the hell does that mean?” He officially loses it and starts hysterically laughing. “Stop laughing, it’s not funny,” I warn.

“Sorry… it’s… you… I need a minute,” he tells me. He takes deep breaths and even then he has small bursts of giggles. “Okay.” He takes another deep breath. “Promise me that you will remember every single weird thought that pops into your head tonight and tell me when we get home. I don’t want to miss out on a single one of them.”

“It’s not funny. You’ve had almost seventeen years of church services. This is pretty much my first,” I point out.

“You’re way overthinking this,” he assures me. “We’ll pick you up on our way. A bunch of old ladies dressed like they’re going to prom are going to talk about you like you’re not there. Then we’ll sit down and the service will start. You’ll just follow our lead. It will be fine. It’s gonna be a long mass tonight and an even longer one tomorrow. And you’ll be surrounded by people that haven’t been to church since Easter, so I promise you won’t stick out.”

“Okay,” I say. I in no way feel better, but I don’t want him to know that. “So I read somewhere that we’re drinking the body and blood of Christ…”

“I’m glad you brought it up,” he tells me; there’s not a hint of humor in his voice, so I think I finally found the right question to ask. “Most episcopalians do not believe in the presence of Christ in the eucharist, though my mom says that varies by parish. The Catholic church believes in the presence and let’s just say that the two churches are not exactly BFF’s. For us, it’s wine and bread that lets Christ into our hearts and minds.”

“One more question. Are we allowed to drink the wine if we’re not 21?”

Bram and my mom are laughing again. “Seriously Simon, remember every single question. All of them.”

“You’re no help, you know that right,” I grumble.

“But you love me anyway,” he says smuggly.

I look at my mom who looks like Christmas came early… that might not be the best analogy since Christmas is tomorrow, but she looks WAY too excited. “You’re on speakerphone,” I choke out.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I forgot.”

“It’s fine. We’ll finish figuring this out when you get here.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he promises.

I hang up and look at my mom. “Not a word,” I warn.

She chuckles. “You’ve known me for seventeen years,” she tells me. “You know there’s not even the slightest chance that I won’t say a word. So you are at love already, huh?”

I had avoided giving her an answer about that when we had our first weekly check in, but I guess there’s no way to dig myself out of this hole. “I guess so,” I say. I shuffle around uncomfortably.

“That’s a pretty big step.” She shivers a little. “A really big step. There are some things that come along with being in love that I think we need to talk about.” I know where she’s going with this and honestly, why do parents think they need to give so many sex talks? Contrary to popular belief Bram and I don’t spend our waking moments thinking about sex… well… okay, that may not be entirely true… but that’s not the only thing we think about. And I’m nervous enough about going to church. No way in hell am I having another sex talk with my mom right now.

“I’m going to stop you right there. Bram and I haven’t even talked about that yet,” I tell her. “And you and dad have more than satisfactorily covered your bases with that.”

“You know that we have a parental obligation to embarrass you and talk about this, right?” She studies me for a minute.

I groan. “Didn’t you already do that though?” I ask. “I get it. Safe sex isn’t optional. Consent isn’t optional. Can’t you just trust us to be smart about this when the time comes?”

She sighs. “I know you want to be treated like an adult with this, but you’re only seventeen. And Bram’s only sixteen. You’re not adults yet and I don’t know that I’m ready to let you make adult decisions without making sure that I’ve done everything in my power to make sure you understand the consequences behind those adult decisions.” She leaves after that, leaving me alone with my jumbled thoughts and feelings.

I  spend most of my day looking up different information about the episcopal church. Some of it is actually kind of cool. They ordained a gay bishop almost a decade ago, which made really big news within the church. It’s weird, because I don’t think I’d ever heard anything about it until I looked it up. I feel like this is the kind of thing people should be talking about. I mean, it can’t be everyday that a church supports a gay guy.

I’m still not sure what to expect. I read an article comparing mass to aerobics and I really hope they’re exaggerating.

By the time Bram shows up, I feel like I spent too much time on the stuff that isn’t going to impact church at all. I know more about the history of the episcopalian church and the difference between episcopalians and other branches of christianity than I do about what mass will look like.

Christmas Eve is a blast and Bram loves the french toast. We go to my bedroom before my parents put on Love Actually and once Bram okays my wardrobe choice for tomorrow, we get ready to leave.

My mom makes a really big deal about this. Truthfully, this is the first time one of us is spending time with a boyfriend during the holidays, so I guess it is kind of a big deal.

We’re only at Bram’s a few minutes before we leave for church. “We have to get there early,” Bram explains as we’re on our way. “It fills up fast during holidays.”

I half expect the building to burst into flames when I walk in. I’m not sure if a less religious person exists. But Bram points out that if God exists, he’s probably glad that I’m putting in the effort and it’s pretty unlikely that he would take my sins out on a church full of innocent people. Plus, Bram reminds me that being gay isn’t a sin in the episcopalian church and we certainly haven’t done anything sinful yet.

So I guess he has a point there. I follow Bram and his mom down the aisle. They stop about fifty times to talk to people and he wasn’t joking about the old ladies. I’m introduced as Bram’s friend, but I can see from some looks that are exchanged that most of them know who I really am. No one seems to make a big deal about it, which is really surprising, but nice. I think I expected it to be this whole big hullabaloo, especially considering this is Georgia, but if anyone is upset about it they keep it to themselves. One woman actually pinches my cheek (it hurts) and tells me that I’m adorable. Bram just lets it happen and grins at me when I finally escape from her. Some boyfriend he is.

We go to an aisle towards the front where I assume his uncle and cousins are sitting. His mom does this weird kneeling thing before she sits down and Bram does the same. I freeze at the end of the aisle. Am I supposed to do that too or is that just for people that are episcopalian? Is this their way of separating the believers from the nonbelievers. Bram quickly comes to my rescue. “It’s called genuflecting,” Bram whispers to me. “It’s optional, but most people here do it. One knee down.”

I do what he says and follow him in. Once we sit down, this girl in front of us turns around and captures his attention. I can’t help but stare at her when I realize she’s flirting. I look at Bram and realize he’s completely unaware of it. And he says I’m the oblivious one.

A few minutes after we sit down, it starts and the girl turns to face the front. I have no idea what her name is because she never tried to introduce herself to me. I can see why people go to church. Bram looks so at peace as the priest (or pastor - I can’t remember what she’s called) is speaking. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s clearly resonating with Bram. I never want him to stop looking like this.

The article I read is right. There is A LOT of standing and kneeling and sitting. And we never stay in one position for too long. And there is a lot of singing. I hadn’t been expecting that, but most of the people around us join in as a full choir sings hymn after hymn. Bram produces a book that has all the songs in it halfway through the first one and points out where the numbers are posted, so I’m able to sing along. When we’re singing, it’s hard not to feel like I’m part of the church. I don’t think I believe in God, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling full and warm.

I don’t tell Bram this, but I don’t feel any different after Eucharist. The bread is pretty terrible and the wine is weirdly bitter and watered down at the same time. I see so many people that bow and look so enlightened. I try to feel that, but I don’t. This clearly means a lot more to him than I thought, so I keep those thoughts to myself.

By the time we get back to his place, I feel mentally exhausted. We’re sleeping downstairs in his living room - I think it’s a sleeping arrangement that makes all of us feel more comfortable.

Once we finish setting up some blankets and pillows, we lay down so we’re facing each other. We turned off the lights and I can only just make out the outline of his face as my eyes adjust. “So what did you think?” he asks quietly.

I don’t really know what to say. I certainly didn’t have some kind of epiphany and I never realized that he may attend church for more reasons than because his mom makes him go. “It was definitely a new experience.” I study him for a moment. “We’ve talked about your religion a little bit, but I never realized it’s this important to you. I saw you in there.”

He shudders a little, like I unearthed some big secret about him. “I don’t like to make a big deal about it, because sometimes being religious is just as taboo as being gay.” I frown as I realize that he’s not wrong. I always thought religious nuts had it so easy, but I know I’ve thought some pretty bad things about them. I feel guilty for a minute, but that’s easy enough to push away. If every religious person in our school was as nice and nonjudgmental as Bram, I would never think anything bad about them. But a lot of them think they’re better than the rest of us. “I don’t want to to think differently of me.”

“I don’t,” I say immediately. And maybe that’s what love is, because I don’t think he’s any different just because he believes something that I don’t. “I just want to understand. I’m not religious and we never talked about how big of a deal this was for you.”

“It didn’t use to be,” he admits. “I used to go because my mom forced me to and I looked forward to my confirmation because it would mean that I wouldn’t have to go anymore. That would be my choice.”

“What changed?” I ask.

“This kid in New Jersey killed himself,” Bram tells me. He’s looking up at the dark ceiling. “I don’t know if you remember this. His roommate filmed him sleeping with a guy or something like that. I didn’t really follow it because we were pretty young, but our priest talked about it one day. He talked about how we needed to respect and love each other. And he said that we all have the right to love whoever we love.” Bram takes in a shaky breath. “They called his death a tragedy and said we had a lot to learn about tolerance and love. It’s the first time I ever heard someone say something like that and I dunno… so many people at our church talk about this divine moment where they felt like god touched their lives. It wasn’t like that, but I felt something. They didn’t know that I was sitting there listening. They didn’t know that there was a weird, little twelve-year-old that was still coming to terms with his sexuality sitting in a pew. After that, church meant something to me. It wasn’t about God, it was about faith and about believing there’s nothing wrong with me and about being around people that believe in something so strongly and about having a place that I knew unconditionally accepted me even if they didn’t realize it yet.”

“Wow.” My mind is buzzing. He continues to surprise me with stuff like this. I know so much about Bram, but there’s even more that’s waiting to be discovered. “I think it’s really cool that you have a place like that.”

He rolls over so he’s facing me. “It got me through some pretty rough times,” he says. “I don’t want you to think this means you have to go with me all the time or even that I’m always going to go every week. But I like going.”

“I think that’s great. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it,” I admit. “I just never had a moment like that… or I guess you were that moment for me.” He grins and there’s a small ray of moonlight that illuminates part of his face. “I’m serious. You saw my parents when I came out to them. And Nick, Leah, and I never really talked about it… I guess Leah and I talked about it a bit, but not outside of her ships, so you were the first person I could really talk to about this stuff. You were the first person that made me feel okay about it.”

“I’m flattered,” he says softly. He scoots a little closer to me so that I can feel his breath on my face. “You know that you’re the first person I talked to about this stuff as well. Church or not, I don’t think I ever would have been comfortable with who I am if it weren’t for you.”

“I love you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he leans closer to me and kisses me. Suddenly, he’s hovering over me and I grab chunks of his shirt to pull him closer to me. For a moment, there’s nothing except him and the kiss. I don’t even have room in my head to remember that his mom is sleeping upstairs.

All I can think about is that I want to get closer to him… uh oh. A poke in my side reminds me that we might be taking things a little too far.

I gently push him and he immediately rolls off of me. For a minute, we’re both panting. My entire body feels tingly and I’m surprised by how much I don’t want to stop. “We’re still waiting three weeks before we talk about this right?” He confirms.

I nod and it takes me a full minute to realize he can’t see me nodding. “Technically just over two weeks.” He sighs and I can’t help but smile. It’s kind of nice to know that I have that effect on him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Honestly?” He asks.

“Of course.” I turn to face him again.

“I’m running through every sex talk my mom has ever had with me,” he tells me.

“Why?” I ask uncertainly. Why the hell would he ever want to live through that once, much less willingly go through it a second time?

“Do you have a better suggestion for our… problem?”

I’m suddenly grateful it’s so dark so he can’t see my flush. “Touche,” I admit. We’re silent for a long time. I think this is the most awkward I’ve ever felt around him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” There’s still a strange tone to his voice, but he doesn’t sound nearly as flustered as he did a few minutes ago. “We both let that get a little out of hand. I’m mostly fine now.”

Maybe because it’s dark, but I kind of feel like I need to know and knowing that he can’t see me makes me feel like I can ask him. “I don’t want to have the talk-talk right now, but do you ever… ya know. Thinking about me?”

He sighs. “This isn’t exactly helping, but yeah. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. I just… I dunno. I guess I never really thought about you doing stuff like that. Not since I found out who you were at least,” I admit.

“I’m still human,” he says dryly. He sits up to look at me. “You should know better than anyone that who I am during school is very different than who I actually am.”

I sit up as well. I didn’t mean to offend him. “Yeah, I know. And it’s nothing about you. I don’t care how quiet you are at school, though that’s definitely something we’ll have to work on. When you were just Blue and you lived in my computer, it was a lot easier to think about you doing stuff like that. Maybe it was less embarrassing in my head before you had a face. Does that make any sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense,” I ramble.

Bram chuckles. “It doesn’t make sense, but that’s one of the things I love about you,” he assures me. “You have your own logic. It’s a weird and illogical logic, but it’s yours.”

I sigh dramatically. “My logic is totally logical.”

Bram starts laughing and after a minute, I join in. I close my eyes and lay back against my pillow. I can’t see the clock on the wall, but I know it’s gotta be really late. We didn’t get home until well after midnight so I figure it’s got to be close to 3am. That means we have to be up in four hours for church again. “Do you think you’ll fall asleep?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I was so tired until we got back here and we could finally go to sleep.”

“And then we did something that woke both of us up?”

“What are you, in the seventh grade?” He asks. I can hear the laughter in his voice, so I know he’s not really upset with me.

“I know you are, but what am I,” I instantly retort.

“Real mature,” he grumbles.

“I never said I was mature,” I point out to him.

“I know,” he sighs.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll be better.”

“No you won’t,” he says confidently. “That would be too hard for you.”

I bite my lip to try to hide my laughter, but I can’t do it. With a giggle, I say, “that’s what she said.”

Bram groans, but then he giggles. “Okay. That was a good one,” he admits. He giggles again, which causes me to giggle, which launches a long cycle of us laughing at the other laughing.

When we finally calm down, my side hurts from all the laughing. “I like this,” I tell him quietly. “This feels so normal. I think I’ve been building up our relationship into this impossible thing.” I roll over onto my side so I’m facing him again. “In my head, I turned you into this perfect person. And not that I don’t think you’re really freaking great, but it was a nice reminder that we can do silly things like this.”

“I know what you mean.” He finagles one of his arms under my shoulder and once I realize what he’s doing, I immediately snuggle into his chest. “I think it’s one of the reasons I was so nervous around you. Because of our emails, I kind of built you up into someone that I needed to constantly be my best around. But, now, I feel like…”

“You can make silly that’s what she said jokes?” I suggest.

“Let’s not get crazy,” he chuckles. He kisses my forehead.

“I’m gonna make that my mission,” I say. “I’m gonna set you up for some epic that’s what she said jokes. They’re gonna be so good, you’re not going to be able to hold yourself back.”

“I think your lack of sleep is starting to get to you,” he tells me.

I giggle. He might be onto something. I didn’t sleep much the night before because I’d been so nervous about church. “Who needs sleep? Can I ask you something about church?”

“Ask away.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

I look up at him and he frowns a little as he realizes I’m completely serious. “I would never,” he says.

“Because you laughed at me a lot before,” I remind him.

“I will do my best not to laugh at you,” he promises.

“Thanks,” I say. “I guess, I just don’t get it. I mean, your church seems pretty cool and…” I sigh. My question suddenly seems kind of stupid and I’m pretty sure that he’s going to laugh at me. “Nevermind.”

“Ask me,” he says. “I really won’t laugh.”

“It’s just, what do you actually believe? Or what does your church actually believe? I thought from start to finish it was going to be all bible readings or talking about the bible, but she spoke for thirty minutes about how we need to remember that people aren’t as fortunate as we are during the holidays and that we have a responsibility to ‘our brethren’ year round,” I say. I feel like it sounds all wrong. “And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m just curious.”

“It’s a hard question to answer,” he admits. “I went to Sunday school for years to learn all of this and classes were even more intensive until I got confirmed last June. I guess there’s a lot that I’m not sure about, like all the stuff with Jesus. But my church believes in loving someone no matter who they are. There are some religions where you need to be part of the church or you need to meet certain criteria to engage in mass. We’re not like that. Anyone can come and accept the eucharist. I don’t even know if every episcopalian church is like that, but our priest is really big on us being kind to everyone, even if they don’t deserve it.”

“As far as beliefs go, I think that’s pretty freaking great,” I tell him. I take a minute to process everything he said. “What stuff with Jesus?”

“You know that I’m technically part Jewish? I celebrate Hanukkah with my dad every year and before my parents got divorced, they couldn’t really decide what to tell me about religion, so they told me about both. And my dad completely rejects what my mom thinks is really important to her religion. It’s really hard to try to figure out which one of your parents is right, so I kind of try to think of the religion behind church.” He chuckles. “That made a lot more sense in my head.”

“No, I think it makes a lot of sense,” I assure him. In truth, I’m kind of relieved that he isn’t 100% on board with the God and Jesus thing, because I have no idea where I stand with that. “So, you don’t believe in God or Jesus?”

“I believe Jesus existed. I mean, there’s actual historical documentation that he existed,” he explains. “But I really don’t know what I believe outside of that. As far as God goes, I believe that if he exists, then he created us all exactly how we’re supposed to be. I don’t think we can have it both ways. We can’t say that he exists and that he’s this powerful being that created mankind in his likeness then say he hates a certain type of person.” I feel him shift. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No. We just don’t talk about religion at my house… I know, that’s freaking shocking,” I say sarcastically. He smiles a little which goes a long way towards easing the tension. “So this is the first time I’ve heard most of this.”

“I know it’s overwhelming. And I know this is really out of your element. But thanks for doing this.” His hand caresses my cheek and I let myself bury my face in his chest.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m woken up by a weird click. It takes a minute for my body to accept I’m actually awake - my eyes stay firmly clamped as if I’ll fall back asleep. I hear the click again and I force myself to wake up. I can’t really move, mostly because Bram has me in a death grip and he’s A LOT stronger than I am. When I look around, I see his mom. She’s holding her phone up and it takes another click for me to realize that she’s taking pictures of us.

I elbow Bram lightly and he releases his grip on me. I can practically feel his confusion until he follows my gaze to his mom.

“Oh.” I don’t think he means to say it, but he scoots about a foot away from me. “We can explain. Nothing happened.”

“Oh, I know nothing happened,” his mom assures us. “You two looked too cute to not capture on camera.”

I really never want to see those pictures. I’m an ugly sleeper on a good day and while I’m sure Bram looks great in the picture, I really don’t want to know how squished I must have looked. “You’re not mad?” Bram asks surprised.

“I’m not mad,” she confirms. “We will have a long talk about this over breakfast, but I’m not mad.”

She certainly seems mad as she subjects me and Bram to an excruciating sex talk. She knows more about gay sex than most of the fanfics I’ve read, which is really saying something. We’re both silent on the way to church and I think we’re both doing the same thing - trying to forget about how embarrassed we are.

Christmas is a blur after church. We’d agreed earlier that we would exchange gifts tonight, so I expect to watch as he opens presents with his cousins. It’s so organized and proper. I’m pretty sure that Bram’s going to go into shock over the explosion of paper that my house is going to become later today. I’m flattered when his mom presents me with a gift during the last round of presents. She got me a Harry Potter t-shirt that said “wizard-in-training” on it. I think Bram must have done the same thing I did and cheated on our only-homemade-gifts agreement via his parents.

When he gets to my place, my parents give him a graphic novel. I only skimmed it, but I thought it was right up his alley and he looks pleased when he opens it.

Finally, we’re able to escape to my room. I give him his gift first. It’s a CD I made him with some of the songs we talked about in our emails and letters. I’d been pretty proud of it until he showed me what he made.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to close my mouth again and I actually feel ready to cry. He made me a picture frame (out of popsicle sticks of course). Inside the picture frame is the quote: “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.”

Underneath the quote is a picture of us. It must have been taken that night at the club before I’d gotten drunk. Bram and I were leaning against the wall and the tips of our fingers were linked. My head was thrown back a bit as if I were laughing and Bram was smiling towards me.

“I love it,” I whisper. I hug the frame towards me. “I love it and I love you.”


	8. The Not So Happy New Year

~ Chapter 8 - The Not So Happy, Happy New Year ~

 

When the call comes in on New Year’s Eve, it takes me a minute to understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t help that it’s 6am and I got approximately four hours of sleep before his phone call woke me up. “I’m coming home,” he says without skipping a beat. His voice is shaky, as if he’s fighting tears. I stare at my wall as I wait for my brain to catch up. When it does, I realize that something is very, very wrong if he’s coming home this early. He’s supposed to be with his dad until January 5th.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I ask. I didn’t have the chance to talk to him yesterday, because my parents decided that we should have a family game night and we were playing our homemade games until almost 2am and I didn’t want to risk waking him up. Plus, I’d promised my mom I would spend some time with them while Bram was gone.

“I’ll tell you once I’m out of here. I’m just packing up my stuff,” he says. I’m pretty sure I’m on speakerphone because I can hear things being shuffled around.

My concern skyrockets. I’ve never heard him sound like this before. I’m tempted to badger him to find out what happened, but that’s not what he needs right now. Ugh. I hate being mature. “Okay. Well I’m right here,” I promise him.

He sniffs. “Thanks.”

It only takes him a few minutes to finish packing and I’m patient until I hear his car start. “Do you want to talk now?”

“I came out to them,” Bram says. His voice sounds kind of choked.

My mind starts to race and I kind of feel like the world’s shittiest boyfriend. I had never realized that Bram would be coming out to his dad in Savannah. And I should have. He told his mom. His dad was really the only one left to tell.

“What happened?” I ask softly. I don’t want to make assumptions, but I’m pretty sure that even I’m not oblivious enough to misinterpret this. He doesn’t answer, instead I practically hear a sob rip through him. “Pull over.”

“I have to get away,” Bram whispers.

“Yes, but I need you to get back here in one piece, so pull over,” I order. I stand up and start pacing. What the hell can I do right now? He’s literally four hours away. I feel so helpless. Is this what being in a mature relationship is like? Because this actually sucks. There’s no way I can see him or help him through this. When he pulls over and I hear him turn off his car, I’m struck by genius. It’s not much, but it’s something. “I’m going to hang up on you, but I will call you right back? And I swear, if you do not answer…”

“I’ll answer,” he promises.

I take a deep breath before I hang up. I almost drop my phone as I try to click his contact. Even though it only takes like fifteen seconds, it feels like an eternity before I click the little video chat button under his name.

He answers almost immediately, and I can see him staring at his phone screen. “It’s so good to see you,” he says quietly.

I really wish I could say the same, but he actually looks horrible. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s still actively crying. Maybe video chat wasn’t a good idea, because now all I want to do is wrap my arms around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Another sob wracks through him and he closes his eyes to try to contain it.

“Let it out,” I say soothingly. “It’s okay to let it out.”

He shakes his head. “I just want to get home to see you,” he tells me.

“I want to see you too. But you can’t drive like this, so let it all out and then come to see me. Deal?” I ask.

“I thought I was supposed to be the rational one,” he mutters.

“Well, you get a pass right now,” I assure him. I don’t actually know if that’s true because he hasn’t told me what happened yet.

He nods into the phone. For several minutes, he just cries. It’s not a complete breakdown like when we were outed, but it’s bad enough that I spend the entire time wishing that someone had invented teleportation so that I could be with him.

When he calms down enough, we switch back to a regular phone call and he starts driving back. I don’t try to ask him what happened and there are long stretches of silence, but neither of us mind. When he’s been driving over three hours, he says, “I’ll be at your house in fifteen minutes.”

“You’re not going home?” I ask surprised.

“No. I need to see you first.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting outside,” I promise him. “I’ll see you soon.” My ear feels weird when I pull my phone away from it. It almost feels numb.

I know he said fifteen minutes, but he also said it was going to take four hours to get here and it’s been less than three and a half, so I’m not about to trust his time management. I sit on my front porch and wait. It’s freezing outside. I’m still in my pajamas and I didn’t think to throw on a hoodie. But I’m going to suck it up.

While I’m waiting, I text his mom to let her know he’s coming here. She gave me her number in case something happened to him while he was with me or in case she needed to get in contact with me. I thought that was pretty smart of her and I pointedly did not tell my parents about that. Mrs. Greenfeld won’t text or call me unless she absolutely has to, but my parents? I could see my dad sending Bram random memes or calling him just to find out what we were doing. There’s no way I’m putting Bram in that position anytime soon. I mean, he looked so overwhelmed at Christmas. He is so not ready to have a text message relationship with my parents yet.

It seems like forever before his car pulls up to my house. He pulls into my driveway and I’m standing outside his door before he turns his car off.

Having him in my arms again is unreal. I don’t try to kiss him, because I don’t feel like we need that. It’s enough to be able to hold him close to me again.

I don’t let go of him until I notice Mrs. Kringle staring at us. Mrs. Kringle has lived down the street from us with her son and his wife for as long as I can remember. Before her son even had his kid. When I was little, she convinced me that she has a second son and that he was Santa Claus and that she would tell him if I was a bad boy - my parents even used to threaten us with it, so I was convinced that she was telling the truth until I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Even though I now know she’s not, I feel really uncomfortable knowing that she can see me with Bram. She doesn’t look angry, more so curious.

“Ready to go inside?” He nods into my chest and I kiss his forehead before I take his hand and pull him along to my room. Bieber’s on my bed when we walk in and he immediately bounds up to Bram. His paws almost reach Bram’s shoulders as he tries to lick his face.

“Bieber, down,” I order. Bieber has selective listening skills. I know he hears me, but he never quite mastered the whole not jumping on people thing. I grab his collar and pull him down. “Sit.” I glare at him. “Sit!” Finally he does.

I open my door. “Nora, can you call Bieber?” I ask.

Nora whistles and then yells, “treats!” which has Bieber running out of my room in a heartbeat. If there’s any word he understands, it’s treats.

I see my mom down the hall as Bieber runs off.  _ Bram’s here _ , I mouth. She looks surprised, but nods at me.

I firmly close my door, which I know I’ll hear about later. But I don’t lock it, so I still kinda think I’m compromising.

When I turn back around, Bram’s already sitting on my bed with his back resting against my headboard. He’s looking at my wall with a weird look on his face. I follow his gaze and see the paper turkey he made me on the wall. I didn’t have much to do these last four days, so I did some redecorating… well, redecorating is a strong word. I bought a frame for his paper turkey and a shadow box for all the notes he wrote me. Then I hung them and the gift he made me for Christmas up on my wall. They kinda stand out, but I like it.

“What?” I ask him. I’m worried he thinks it’s too much.

“I just… I guess I never really thought you would keep it,” he admits.

“Well, it’s one of the things that made me realize how much I love you,” I tell him. “I looked at it and all I could think about was how much I wanted to know who you were.”

“I like that you kept it,” he says.

I shrug and join him on my bed. “So what happened?” I ask.

He leans into my chest. I wish I were taller, because he has to slouch to reach my shoulder, but he doesn’t complain. “I came out to my dad last night. I didn’t really plan to, but we had such a great day yesterday. My dad took off of work and we went to a couple of museums and then got lunch. Then he took me to see this play. I think I forgot how much fun my dad used to be, because I don’t get to see him all that often anymore. But when I was little, we always took trips like that. To the zoo, to the movies, to the park to identify different birds.” I have to force myself not to giggle when I get this mental image of little Bram with huge binoculars, pointing at different birds and recording what he found in a little bird-watching journal. Nothing will convince me that didn’t happen. “But yesterday, it was like I was a little kid again. So after dinner, when we were sitting outside, I just felt like it was the right moment, you know? It’s the first time I felt like I had my dad back and there I was sitting with this huge secret. So, I came out to them.”

“And he didn’t take it well?” I ask.

“My dad took it fine. My stepmom… not so much. My dad kept saying how honored he was that I could share this part of myself with him and how proud of me he was and she just kinda looked at me like I was a bug,” he says quietly. “When my dad looked at my stepmom, she got this angry look on her face and shook her head. ‘You’re not gay’ were her exact words. And I calmly told her that I am gay and that I have a boyfriend. I didn’t stop talking about you the entire time I was there, so my dad guessed that you were my boyfriend and when I confirmed it, my stepmom lost it. She started saying it was just a phase and I’m too young to know I’m gay. I just sat there shocked and listened to her.” I tightened my grip on him. “I never thought to account for my stepmom’s reaction. For whatever reason, I thought if my dad was okay with it, she’d be okay with it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because what else can I possibly say? “What did your dad do?”

“That’s when it got bad,” Bram admits. I raise my eyebrows at him, because it wasn’t bad before? “They started fighting. My dad told her that there was nothing wrong with me being gay and she said there was everything wrong with me being gay. They fought until like midnight. Even after that I couldn’t sleep. This morning, my dad told me that she’d come around and would learn to live with me being gay, because she didn’t have a choice. Apparently she’s pregnant and she doesn’t work, so she can’t really afford to have a baby without my dad. He looked at me like that would make things better. And I kind of freaked. Knowing he’s having a baby and that he’s using that baby to make my stepmom get over me… All I could think was what if it doesn’t work like that? What if I end up being responsible for him getting a divorce or something? What if his baby grows up  and never knows who he is? And all because of me. I couldn't take it. I told him I was leaving and he didn’t try to stop me.”

I kiss the top of his head. “I wish I could make that better,” I say softly. “All I can say is that if they get a divorce, it is absolutely not your fault. It’ll be your stepmom’s fault. As for your fetus sibling, I’m pretty sure you’re dad would get partial custody like he has with you. And that baby will have the best big brother in the world.” He sobs and I realize he probably doesn’t need a voice of reason right now. “But that’s irrelevant, because your dad is right. Your stepmom will come around. There is nothing wrong with who you are.” I turn a little so I’m facing him and I lift his chin so I can look him right in the eye. “I know you don’t like talking about yourself, so I’m only going to say this once.” A watery chuckle escapes him as he realizes what’s coming. “You are an incredible person. You care so much and you’re always thinking of other people. You make me want to be a better person, because you deserve the best. When I needed a lifeline, not only did you throw me a rope, but you jumped in after me. I love you so much and I need you to know that not only are you exactly who I need you to be, you are exactly who you should be. No one can change that. Not even your stepmom.”

Someone knocks on my door and I have a feeling they were listening in to time it for when I was done talking. “One second,” I call. I’m about to go to my door when my mom walks in. Bram hastily wipes his eyes and looks away from her. “What part of one second is hard to understand?”

“Sorry,” she says. She seems taken aback by my tone, but then she notices Bram and begins to radiate pure concern. I shake my head at her and fortunately, she seems to understand what I’m telling her not to do. “I just wanted to let you know lunch is ready. Your father made some rice thing he’s pretty excited to try.”

“Okay. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She hesitates and looks like she’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and closes my door behind her. Now that’s trust.

I turn back to Bram. “Any better?”

“You make everything better,” he says seriously. He takes a few deep breaths. “Thanks for what you said before.”

“Anytime,” I promise. Despite the fact that I told my mom we would be down in a few minutes, we don’t leave my bed. Bram yawns several times and seems to be fighting sleep, but he can only resist it for so long. When Bram finally falls asleep, I let my eyes drift closed. I don’t think I could fall asleep if I wanted to, but everything is heightened when my eyes are closed. I can hear his soft, sleep-slow breath and I can feel how warm he is. I can almost feel the stillness of this moment.

When my phone starts to vibrate, I carefully wriggle myself out of his grip. I think he wakes up for a split second, but then he rolls over and falls right back asleep.

By the time I get to my phone it has long since stopped ringing. I’m surprised to see I have two missed calls. I don’t recognize the first number and I don’t remember hearing my phone ring, but the second one is Bram’s mom. I step out into the hallway and call her back.

“Hey Mrs. Greenfeld,” I say when she answers.

“Is he okay?” She asks concerned.

“Yes. He’s sleeping right now,” I tell her. “Did his dad tell you what happened?”

“Briefly. He also said he tried calling you, but you didn’t answer,” she tells me. “I got worried that something happened.”

“No, I just didn’t hear my phone ring. Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to worry,” I apologize.

“It’s not your fault sweetheart,” she says instantly. “Can I assume he’ll be reigning in the new year with you?”

Until she said it, I hadn’t even remembered that today was New Year’s Eve. “Uh… yeah, I think so. We didn’t really talk about it yet,” I admit. “I was going to let him sleep a little longer, but when I wake him up I’ll find out if he wants to celebrate New Years here or with you.”

“Thanks. Just let me know.”

“Will do.”

I’m about to hang up when she says, “and Simon? Thanks for being there for him.” 

“Anytime Mrs. Greenfeld. Anytime.” 

Once I hang up, I go down to the kitchen. I raid the fridge for something to eat. Bram may have had an emotional day that stripped him of his appetite, but I am so hungry, I’m pretty sure I could eat all the food in my house.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” I nearly jump a foot in the air when I hear my mom’s voice as I’m heating up the rice my dad made for lunch.

I don’t turn to face her. “Bram had a rough night in Savannah,” I explain.

“Would you care to elaborate?” She asks.

“Bram came out to his dad and stepmom,” I say evasively. I feel a little uncomfortable sharing this with her. It almost feels like a betrayal of trust, but my mom and I had agreed to speak openly and honestly with each other - which really sucks ass.

“And?” She presses.

I sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I now have a newfound appreciation for how you all took me coming out,” I tell her earnestly. I’m really not trying to make her feel bad, but she’s fully aware that was a shitshow from start to finish.

“That bad?” She asks surprised.

I nod and bite my lip. “I don’t think I should talk about it,” I tell her seriously. “I don’t know how I’d feel if Bram told his mom how coming out to you went.” I don’t mention that I already told his mom myself, because that was my decision. “If he wants to talk about it more, he’ll talk about it more.”

“He’s okay though?” She asks.

I really consider her question. “No. But he will be. He just needs time,” I tell her. 

“Okay.” I guess this whole compromise between us is literally freaking amazing, because she actually drops it. Do you know how often that happens? Never. Like literally never. She’s really trying, which is kinda weird but great. I guess it’s my turn to start pulling my weight. The first day Bram was gone, we had our first weekly check-in and it was surprisingly fine. It wasn’t quite what I was picturing - I guess I thought she was gonna spend the whole time grilling me with questions, but mostly we figured out how to make this work. She agreed to give me space as long as I kept her in the loop when I could. Then we had a contest to see who could eat the most chicken fingers in a minute. She won.

“Mom?” I ask uncertainly. She looks at me curiously and I fidget uncomfortably. I guess my mom may have had a point about the repressed emotions thing, because this is so hard to get out. “You asked me about school the other day and I told you I wasn’t worried about it…” She nods. I take a deep breath. “I guess I am kinda worried about it.” The microwave dings to let me know my rice is ready, but I don’t make any move to take it out.

“Okay,” she says cautiously. “What are you worried about?”

I look down at the counter. “You know how you told me not to look at that post because it would only make me anxious to go back to school? You were right,” I admit. I had spent hours yesterday reading comment after comment. You know, I never knew kids could be so creative.

I can practically see her swallow her frustration. “What have they been saying?”

“Do you want to see?” I don’t think I could have surprised her more. She’d asked about it before and I’d said no before she even got the question out. I dunno… this is new territory for both of us and she’s been really great about not being my therapist and maybe it will help to have someone else see it. I didn’t want to show it to Bram, because I feel guilty enough that I dragged him down with me.

“If you’re sure you’re comfortable with that.”

I nod nervously and leave for a moment to get my laptop. Bram is still fast asleep in my bed, so I’m careful to be as quiet as possible. I glance over at him before I leave. I feel a bit like a creep, but he’s really cute when he sleeps.

When I get back downstairs, my mom is sitting at the kitchen table. Across from her is my rice with a spoon sticking out of it. I know that she does this stuff all the time, but I don’t think I ever appreciated it more than I did in that moment. I don’t even know why it makes me feel so emotional. I think maybe it’s a combination of everything that’s coming up and the excitement of Bram suddenly being back.

I wordlessly open my laptop and pull up the creeksecrets post. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and pass it to her.

Her face is neutral as she reads the post and I’m assuming she reads some of the comments. I start to eat the rice. I guess my dad tried to recreate fried rice. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m nervous for my mom’s reaction or if my dad just epically failed at making fried rice, but it seems kinda flavorless to me. I make a mental note not to tell my dad that.

My mom stares at the post for over twenty minutes. It doesn’t necessarily surprise me. New comments are popping up everyday and as of yesterday, there had been over 2000 of them. Granted, about 1000 of them were two people arguing back and forth about whether or not me and Bram are going to hell. I have my suspicions that the person defending us is Leah, but I have no proof. The way some of it is worded just sounds like Leah. Even if it’s not her, it’s good to know that someone is that adamant about defending us.

“Do you know who posted this?” Her voice sounds shaky and it takes me a second to realize that she’s furious.

“Yes.” I don’t say anything else and she doesn’t push me for more.

“Have you showed this to Bram yet?” She still hasn’t looked away from my screen. 

“No. And I’m not going to,” I assert.

“Simon, multiple people have called him a…” she looks like she’s on the verge of tears and I understand why. More than one person brought his race into it and let’s just say there might be more racist students at Creekwood than homophobic ones, which is really saying something. There was one person that asserted that people can’t be black AND gay. Because somehow that makes sense. “Don’t you think he has a right to know?”

I bite my lip. “He didn’t want to be out in the first place. And this? This isn’t a freaking walk in the park. There are literally people that think we’re going to hell. And what they’re saying about him is so much worse. What if I show this to him and it’s too much? What if it becomes too real for him?”

My mom frowns. “Don’t you think he’ll be blindsided?” She asks. “The things these kids are writing about him… and you… do you think you’ll hear this stuff at school?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think it’s easier for people to hide behind anonymity than it will be for them to say it to our faces. At least the stuff about him. Ms. Knight might not give a fuck about sexuality, but she’ll care if someone calls him a…” I can’t bring myself to say it. It was hard enough to read it in the first place and honestly, it makes me feel so freaking guilty.

Because here I was freaking out about how people would come to terms with us being gay and I never once considered what it would be like for him to be black AND gay. I guess I just thought things were different now. But they’re not. Not even close.

“What makes you think she won’t care if someone harrasses you for being gay?” My mom asks.

“I mean it’s not exactly uncommon for kids to call guys fags or say that something is gay. Teachers can’t be completely oblivious to that,” I say with a shrug.

My mom looks more troubled than I thought possible. “If you want my opinion, even if you’re not going to show this to him, I think you need to tell him what’s on here. I think your first day back will be so much worse if he doesn’t know what people are saying,” she tells me.

I groan. I hate when she makes sense. “What if it’s too much for him?” 

“What if what’s too much for me?” Bram asks from the doorway. I turn so quickly in my chair, I nearly fall out.

“I… uh…” I look at my mom, but she doesn’t say anything. Some help she is. “You should sit down.”

He does and I reluctantly show him some of the comments on the post. He looks at me surprised. “I know they’re saying this.”

“How are you not more upset?” I ask incredulously.

He shrugs. “I’m not not upset. But nothing I say is going to change what they’re saying.”

I don’t push him because I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I think that’s the shitiest thing I’ve ever heard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Martin’s,” he points out.

“Fucking Martin,” I grumble. I actually think I might hate him and the magnitude of that emotion is overwhelming. “What are we going to do when we see him?”

“Ignore him,” Bram asserts. “We’ll only make things worse if we don’t.”

“Worse? What more can he possibly do to us?”

“Did he write that post?” My mom asks. I’m taken aback when she speaks, because I completely forgot that she was here.

“What? Uh… he’s just a kid from school. He’s in the play with me… shit, he’s in the play with me.” Okay, so I might suck at misdirection and I’m like 100% sure my mom knows it’s Martin now. But she doesn’t know his last name and what’s she gonna do? Look through my yearbook… actually, I wouldn’t put it past her so I make a mental note to find and hide all my old yearbooks.

Before I have the chance to give anything else away, I change the subject. “Your mom wanted to know if you were going to go home tonight.”

Bram sighs. “I guess I have to go home.”

“You could always spend the night here.” As an afterthought, I look towards my mom. I don’t think she’ll have an issue with me inviting him to spend the night, but I don’t want to seem like she doesn’t have authority here.

She nods. “We’d love to have you.”

Bram smiles. “I’ll come back, but I should get a change of clothes and check in with my mom.”

“I’ll come with you,” I offer. In less than an hour, we’re back at my house. His mom clearly didn’t want to push him, so we were in and out of his house. We sit in the kitchen quietly while my mom makes some appetizers. Neither of us feels like talking. It’s been an emotional day for Bram and my mind is spinning with what we talked about before.

We’re quiet until my dad pops his head in the kitchen. “30 minutes to the new year and pizza’s here.”

“We’ll be there in a minute.” I wait until my mom follows my dad out. I watch my mom balance plates of mozzarella sticks and potato skins. I think we’re probably the only family that treats the New Year like an opportunity to binge eat… then again, the pizza place is only open until 2am for the New Year, so maybe not. “I know you don’t want to talk about it now, but I would like to talk about the comments on that post at some point. And we need to figure out when we can sit down with everyone.” We’d managed to avoid it and then he had to leave, but we definitely owe it to them.

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow,” he says. Despite sleeping most of the afternoon, he sounds exhausted. “For now, can we forget all this shit and enjoy the fact that we get to start a new year together?”

A huge smile crosses my face. “You said shit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.”

He chuckles. “You look a little too excited about that. Come on. I’m starving.”

“You haven’t had anything to eat all day.” I should have realized that. I should have made him eat hours ago.

He rolls his eyes. “Come on.”

I obediently follow him to the family room where we devour an entire pizza just between the two of us. When there’s five minutes left, my mom breaks out the plastic champagne flutes she buys at the Dollar Tree and my dad pours us some sparkling apple cider. I haven’t been upstairs for the peach dropping in years, so I kinda forgot that they do this and that they make this huge deal about toasting everyone once the peach drops.

Once we do the toast, I glance at Bram. It’s tradition to kiss, but I don’t know how he feels about it. I guess he’s comfortable enough around my family, because he kisses me quickly.

My dad catches my eye and winks at me before he pulls my mom towards him. And I was worried about a tiny kiss from Bram. Honestly, parents know no boundaries. “Get a room,” I tease.

“We intend to,” he says with a smug grin. My mom just rolls her eyes.

“Oh god dad. TMI!” Nora fake whines. She starts laughing and then I start laughing and pretty soon we’re a cackling mess.

There are worse ways to reign in the New Year.


	9. Loose Ends

~ Chapter 9 - Loose Ends ~

 

Bram and I are apparently experts at procrastinating when we put our minds to it, because we don’t manage to make plans with our friends until the night before we go back to school. We also don’t manage to talk about what we’re gonna tell them until approximately two hours before we have to meet them at Waffle House.

Our talk gets us nowhere, partially because we - okay, I - have a lot of trouble talking about this kind of stuff, even with Bram. And partially because there really isn’t much to talk about. We know they have questions about school, but I feel like school is so freaking out of our control right now. We’re not going to be making out and groping in front of our classmates, but whatever we do is pretty irrelevant since they know we’re together. It’s not like we really have the opportunity to be subtle, because we’re going to be under a microscope. The only thing we could do is deny it, but neither of us wants to do that. 

So the only thing we decide is that we have to talk about everything that happens when we’re not together - and not in an ‘I had a granola bar for breakfast’ kind of way. My joke was not appreciated and apparently Bram doesn’t trust me to take this seriously, because he is very specific in his expectations. I can’t say I blame him. I know he’s still a little frustrated that I didn’t tell him how upset I was about the creeksecrets post.

We’ve been sitting on my bed in complete silence since Bram made me promise to tell him if anything happens our first day back at school. I’ve never been one for long, awkward silences. I always feel the need to say or do something to end them. This is no exception.

“I don’t know what to say to them,” I say after several minutes pass. 

“We can just tell them we don’t want this to be a big deal,” he points out.

I snort and roll my eyes. We’d started a group text message to tell them we wanted to get Waffle House with them before we went back to school and it kinda got out of hand. I mean Leah and Abby have been arguing about a good couple name for us. I’m glad that they’re on board and all, but there’s a line and I’m pretty sure they passed it with smiles on their faces a long time ago. It’s so bad that Bram turned off notifications in that group message so he wouldn’t have to read what they were saying. LUCKY HIM. Do you know what he said when I tried to do the same thing? One of us has to be in the loop about what they’re saying. ONE OF US. Which apparently means me. I wish I could be upset about it, but honestly, everything he’s been through is my fault and I really can’t begrudge him a little bit of normal.

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “But they all know we’re dating because Nick and Abby couldn’t keep their mouths shut after they took us to that gay bar. No offense, but your friends suck at keeping secrets.” He’s grinning at me, so I know he doesn’t really mean his words. I groan. Abby had taken pictures and had shared them in our group message when I told them we wanted to talk to them. Granted, I saved every single one of them because Bram looks amazing in all of them, but it’s still embarrassing. Bram was a little creeped out by it, but he also doesn’t know Abby as well as I do. Abby’s not really creepy… she just gets REALLY excited about things. “Unless you’re thinking of something I’m not, there’s not much to tell them.”

That seems to be the theme. Not much to tell our friends. Not much to talk about regarding school. Not much within our control. “Then why don’t we just let them ask questions? We know they have them. If we don’t want to answer one, we’ll just tell them that.” I love our friends, but I honestly wish Bram and I could be together without it being this freaking big. I feel like I’m exhausted and I haven’t even gotten back to school yet.

“Okay,” he agrees. He pulls me close to him and for a couple of minutes, we lay down on my bed and let the world fade away. 

There’s something about Bram that makes me feel sleepy and comfortable. So I’m not entirely surprised when he shakes me to wake me up. I’m not surprised, but I am grumpy. I want nothing more than to succumb to my sleep world and maybe completely avoid the shitshow waiting for us tomorrow (or the one currently waiting for us at Waffle House). But this isn’t a sleep world and we have to face our friends before we can face the school.

When we pull up to Waffle House, Bram has to coax me out of his car. I know our friends know, but I kinda feel like this is still a big coming out moment for us.

It turns out, we did all that worrying for nothing. They mostly wanted to make sure that they knew what we wanted from them. I hadn’t even considered that they might think we’d tell people that post was a lie and Leah looked really thoughtful when we told her we weren’t going to pretend that we’re not together.

I don’t even know how to describe what happens next. In my wildest dreams, I never thought that nothing would happen. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I always figured once people knew that I’m gay, it would change everything. But for almost an hour, it’s just like it was before. We sit and talk and joke about random nonsense. Nick gets philosophical about video games. Even Leah and Abby have that same strained tension between them. I used to hate that tension, but I love it right now.

Things are kind of normal until Garrett gets this uncomfortable look on his face. He glances at Nick who nods at him. Even Abby and Leah get really quiet. “You know, we’ve had a lot of time to think about this moment,” Garrett says quietly. “When we saw that post and the two of you didn’t come here, we had a long, long talk with each other.”

Oh god. What’s going on? I look at Bram anxiously, but he looks as clueless as I feel. He doesn’t look away from Garrett and even I can tell how scared he is. He hasn’t really talked to Garrett since we were outed. I mean he sent him a text on Christmas and New Years, but that’s drastically different than before we were outed. Bram felt so guilty that he hadn’t told Garrett himself and I think right now, he’s terrified that they’re gonna be pissed that we didn’t tell them. Maybe this whole evening was the calm before the storm. I know where he’s coming from. Aside from the night we went to the gay bar, I haven’t talked to anyone. I got to tell my family in my own way even if I didn’t get to tell them in my own time, but I’ll never get that chance with my friends. I really didn’t think I could hate Martin more, but I realize more everyday just what he took from us.

I lean into Bram slightly, bracing myself for the anger that’s inevitably coming. I’m half convinced that they’re gonna tell us that we can’t be friends if we kept something like this from them.

That’s why I’m shocked when the next words out of Garrett’s mouth are, “we’re sorry.”

I don’t look at Bram, because I’m too busy staring at Garrett with my mouth agape. “For what?” Bram manages. He sounds as surprised as I feel.

“We realize that we never really talked about stuff like this, which may have made it difficult for you to talk about stuff like this,” Garrett says with a sigh. He closes his eyes for a second. “I was so angry when I first found out. I couldn’t understand how you could keep this from me.” I know those words are for Bram, but I feel like they’re for me too. I’m sure this is how Nick and Leah felt or Garrett would be talking to Bram alone. “You’re my best friend… you’re really my only friend in a lot of ways.” Now he’s really talking just to Bram and the discomfort around the table is noticeable, even to me. “I thought we could talk about anything.”

“We’re so so-” Bram starts to say.

“Let me get this out,” Garrett interrupts. He glares at Nick. “Why am I the goddamn spokesperson again?”

Nick sighs. “I’ll take it from here.” He looks at me. “We were all really angry. But then Abby told us about that day in Waffle House. She told us how scared you were and how hard it was for you to tell her and she reminded us that there’s a reason it was so hard for you. We never talked about this, because we never knew we needed to. It never occurred to us that you might be gay and we understand that that’s one of the things that probably made it hard for you to tell us. Maybe if we’d talked about this stuff more, you would have known that’s it’s not a matter of loving you despite who you love…” Nick looks really uncomfortable and shakes his head before he continues, “yeah, I’m tapping out. This was your line anyway.”

Abby rolls her eyes and turns to look at me. “What Nick was trying to say is we don’t love you despite who you love, we love you because of it. It’s not this part of you that we have to learn to accept. We we love you for who you are. And this is a part of you, so we love that too.” Abby’s eyes are big and innocent and it makes it really freaking hard to doubt any of it. “We think it’s great that the two of you found each other and that you had someone you could share this part of you with.”

“Even if it wasn’t us,” Garrett adds. Abby glares at him, but I’m glad he said it. I feel like we can be real now. What they said was really nice, but they get to be angry. They get to tell us how they really feel. We knew they’d be upset and the last thing I want is for them to be walking on eggshells around us all the time.

“No, seriously. You get to be freaking upset and angry and whatever the hell you feel. We never wanted you to find out this way. Not about us being together and definitely not about us being gay. It’s nothing you did that made us think we couldn’t tell you. It’s something we just had to work through,” I try to explain. I look at Bram helplessly. I suck at explaining stuff, but he knows how to use words.

“It’s something we had to prepare ourselves for,” Bram clarifies. “It wasn’t just you we had to come out to. It was our families and kids at school and random strangers that might see us on dates. Knowing that this could possibly uproot so many people and could make life so much harder for us… it makes it difficult to talk about that even with the people we trust most. And more than that, we needed to be comfortable with it. Comfortable enough that no one could make us feel ashamed because of it. Comfortable enough that we were ready for the people we care about most to see it. We didn’t tell you, because we knew it would change things. We love all of you and we just wanted to keep holding on to normal as long as possible.”

I nod. “What he said.”

I don’t think that satisfies their frustration, but none of them show it. We’re at Waffle House much later than we should be on a school night, but I can’t make myself regret it. With every minute that we spend together, I feel a little more like us being gay doesn’t change anything.

Of course, I don’t feel that the next day when I’m in full-blown panic mode in the parking lot at school. It’s so bad that Nora hijacks my phone to call Bram and tells him to come to my car. I can’t help it - it’s not even like I’m crying or anything. It’s just like all of a sudden the gravity of what we’re about to do hits me and it hits me hard enough that my brain has decided communication with my body is overrated. It’s not just that people might be assholes to me - that I can deal with. But I dragged Bram into this. I don’t care how many times he said he’s ready for this. If I hadn’t fucked everything up with Martin, he definitely wouldn’t be out right now. And what if he actually realizes that - because I know he hasn’t yet and he will justifiably be pissed when he does. What if today ends up being too much for him?

Nora slips out of the car and a second later, Bram takes her seat. In a second, I’m in his arms. I know that we’re in the middle of the school parking lot and literally anyone could see us, but I still let myself get lost in his embrace.

It takes him almost ten minutes of promising that he’s not going to disappear and that he’ll be by my side no matter what happens at school before I follow him from my car. Part of it was nerves and part of it was the fact that I’d been eager to see Bram, but we’d gotten to the school really early so despite my moment of panic, we’re still early when we finally get out of my car.

When there’s only a few minutes left of first period, Ms. Knight walks into our English class and asks me, Bram, and Martin to follow her to her office. There are scattered whispers as we leave and I have a feeling rumors will be flying by lunchtime. We hadn’t told our friends that Martin made the post so I couldn’t figure out how Ms. Knight figured it out. And she had to have figured it out, because why else would she have asked to see Martin? And clearly our classmates were coming to a similar conclusion, because there’s very little reason for Martin to be involved in anything with me and Bram.

I stop dead when I walk into her office. My parents and Bram’s mom are standing against one of the walls. Against the other wall are two people that are unmistakingly Martin’s parents. What the hell is going on?

“Sit,” Ms. Knight orders us. I’m frozen, so I don’t do it at first. But then the bell rings and Ms. Knight repeats herself and I feel like I’m wide awake. I’m tempted to tell her that we need to get to Algebra, but I have a feeling she wouldn’t let us leave.

A chill creeps down my spine and suddenly I’m sure that we’re somehow in trouble. I try to figure out what Bram and I could have done when our school resource officer walks in and Ms. Knight closes the door, cutting us off from the outside world.

Ms. Knight opens a small, spiral-bound book on her desk. After a moment, I recognize it to be a student planner. “Mr. Addison. Are you familiar with our HIB policy?” Martin looks at her cluelessly. “It’s our harassment, intimidation, and bullying policy. This policy is in place to protect our students from acts that can prevent them from accessing a safe and equitable education. Do you understand why I am talking to you about this?” Her tone leaves no doubt. She knows. Martin nods and looks at the ground. “Then it should be no surprise to you that any such acts can warrant disciplinary action anywhere from suspension to expulsion depending on the severity of the acts.” I feel nauseated. I may hate Martin with every fiber of my being, but I don’t want him to get expelled. I just want him to leave me the fuck alone forever.

Martin’s mother has a disgruntled look on her face when she turns on Ms. Knight. “Excuse me. Don’t you dare threaten him! Aside from the fact that you have no proof that he even wrote that ridiculous post, you can only enforce that policy if it was done on school property. My son would never do something like that. He’s a good boy and you have no right to pull him into this just because these boys were outed. I’m sorry for what they’re going through, but I will not allow you to scapegoat my son.”

I feel Bram stiffen next to me and I feel the blood drain from my face. Somehow, I didn’t expect anyone to defend Martin. Is his mom really that oblivious to who Martin really is and what he’s capable of. The bell rings again. We’re officially late for Algebra.

When I glance at my mom, my dad has his hand on her wrist and they’re doing that thing where they seem to have an entire conversation without words. With every passing second, she looks a little calmer.

I’m jolted from my thoughts. “No,” Martin says. His hands are clenched into fists. He looks right at Ms. Knight. “I wrote that post.”

His mom looks taken aback. “You… you what?”

“I was angry and hurting and I did it.” Martin’s looking at the ground.

His mom closes her eyes for just a moment. “Regardless. It did not take place on school property.” I get that she probably doesn’t want Martin to get in serious trouble for this, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking some freaking horrible thoughts about her. My mom would never have done that for us and I have a feeling that she’s looking at Mrs. Addison with her disapproving mom face. I wonder if that face works on other moms.

“What if someone had done this to Carter? Wouldn’t you want to make sure that whoever did this to him got punished?” Martin’s mom is looking at her with her mouth agape. I vaguely remember Martin mentioning that his brother was gay, but I never really gave it much thought. Honestly, it makes me feel really freaking nauseated to know that Martin could do something like this when he had a brother that role modelled how fucking difficult it is to be gay in Georgia. It makes me hate him just a little bit more. Because I can get him being an asshole, but I can’t understand him doing this despite his brother. I don’t know what’s worse than an asshole, but Martin’s worse than whatever the fuck that is. “I really didn’t think it would be like this. If I had, I never would have done it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am so sorry.” He hastily wipes his eyes as if that’s going to make it less obvious that he’s a blubbery mess. I’ve never seen Martin cry before, but he’s apparently one of those people that get red and splotchy all over their faces. “I blackmailed Simon for months. On school property.” Suddenly all eyes are on me… well, all adult eyes are on me. This isn’t exactly news to Martin or Bram. I’m pointedly looking at the ground. “I told him if he didn’t do what I wanted him to do, I’d out him. And that’s exactly what I did. I had most of that post written since November, much of which I’d written from school computers. And I tried to do it earlier, but Bram stopped me. That’s the only reason I outed him as well. I never should have brought him into this. I never should have done it. I didn’t know.” There’s a short silence and I hear someone sob. I’m not sure who it was and I can’t look up and find out. The two sides of my brain are in a full-blown battle, because part of me really and truly hates Martin. But I also kinda feel bad for him. He clearly feels guilty about everything and despite how much I hate him, it’s like my instinct is to feel bad for him. Which is really fucked up. I should not feel bad for my blackmailer. That’s some Stockholm Syndrome shit right there.

“Is this true Mr. Spier?” Ms. Knight asks. I don’t do or say anything, but apparently I don’t need to.

“It is,” Bram says quietly. I turn to glare at him. It’s hard to be mad at Bram when I already have so much anger towards everything else, but I manage to channel some of my anger towards him. “No. You don’t get to pretend like it didn’t happen.” He turns to Martin. “Do you know what happened because you decided to out us? Have you read the comments on your post? I don’t believe that you didn’t know something like this would happen, because otherwise you wouldn’t have held it over his head for months. We had to come out. Both of us. Not because we were ready or because we wanted to. But because we had to. And you can’t even begin to imagine everything that happened as a result. The fights we got in. The fights we’re still in. And how our classmates are taking it... In the two minutes it took us to walk from the front of the school to our English classroom-”

“Stop,” I whisper, cutting him off. I can’t hear anymore of it and I really don’t need him to talk about what happened this morning. I was there for it. Bram noticeably takes a deep breath and he looks significantly calmer after that. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be kicking himself later, because I’ve never heard him stumble with his words so much.

“What happened this morning?” Ms. Knight asks. She’s looking at me, but I cross my arms.

“Someone tried to kiss him,” Martin says dejectedly. I hadn’t known that he’d seen it and it makes me sink lower into my seat. Why is everyone suddenly deciding to share all this stuff about me? Shouldn’t it be my right to keep this to myself?

“Bram, Martin. I’d like it if the two of you could wait outside. I’ll call you in in a moment,” Ms. Knight tells them. When Bram rises, I grab his wrist. I don’t want him to leave. I can see that he doesn’t want to leave either, but we don’t have much of a choice. He squeezes my shoulder on his way out. I adopt a slouched position in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

Once everyone leaves, except for my parents, Ms. Knight sits on her desk in front of me. “What happened this morning is inexcusable and is a serious violation of our sexual misconduct policy. I can assure you we will do everything to make sure that something like that doesn’t happen again. In order to do that, I need to know who did this.” The kicker is I don’t even fucking know. I vaguely recognized him as a football player, but I have no clue what his name is. How messed up is that? He doesn’t know me. He just thought he was being funny. I guess my defiance is obvious on my face, because Ms. Knight scowls at me. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Jokes on her, because I still have no intention in talking about this. “May I talk to Simon alone for a moment?” My mom asks.

Ms. Knight reluctantly leaves and I’m surprised when my mom stares down my dad until he follows her out as well. Once we’re alone, I feel like my already fragile composure is about to crumble.

“We agreed to compromise, right?” My mom says. I can’t deny that has me curious, because I expected her to get pissed at me. She’s a lot better at this whole letting-go thing than I am. “I know you don’t want this to be a big deal, but you need to talk to us. Don’t tell us everything if you don’t want to, but tell us some stuff. And in exchange…” she closes her eyes. “One sleepover with Bram a month. Pending his mom’s approval and with your door open.” I stare at her with my mouth agape. She’s bribing me. Granted, it’s a really good freaking bribe, but I don’t expect it. She rolls her eyes at me. “Like I don’t know that you’ll find a way anyway. I’d rather it happen right under my nose. What do you say?”

I have to give it to her. She found the one thing I’d actually agree to. I’m not about to say no to more time with Bram. “Two sleepovers. One at our house, one at his,” I say. I’m probably pushing it, but if she’s going to make me talk about this shit, I’m getting something out of it. I’m kinda curious what she’ll come back with. The last time we compromised had been right before Christmas when I’d practically begged her to let me stay at Bram’s house in between Christmas Eve and Christmas mass. That had been a freaking long compromise that had only ended after she agreed to get Bram a gift from the family to show him they approved of us and I agreed to spend most of Bram’s time in Savannah participating in whatever ‘family fun’ my mom planned.

My mom looks thoughtful. “Two sleepovers and Bram comes to one weekly check-in a month.”

I really have to think about that one, because I know my mom gets a lot more out of it than I do, but I think it might be worth it. I get this mental image in my head and Bram and I sitting across from my mom as we laugh and talk. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Fine. What do you want to know?” I ask reluctantly. I really don’t want to talk about this, but I’d do just about anything for Bram.

“I’ll get Ms. Knight and we can find out what she needs. Do you want Bram here for this?” She asks. Like I said. She’s a lot better at this than I am. I nod and my mom disappears for a minute. She returns with my dad, Ms. Knight, Bram, and Bram’s mom.

Ms. Knight takes a seat at her desk. I glance at Bram and smile. I wonder if I look as tired as I feel. “I’m ready to answer your questions.” She looks taken aback by my sudden change in attitude, but she presses her advantage.

It’s a rough morning. So rough that Ms. Knight lets us leave school when we’re finally done. Martin’s still in her office when we’re dismissed. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him and I can’t help but feel a little bad for him. I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive him, but he’s really trying his best to make this a little better. It’s futile though, because this isn’t something that can be fixed.

If our first day back is rough, our first week is chaotic. That Saturday, I am still in bed at noon. I’m not avoiding… not exactly. I am just so tired after our first week back at school and I haven’t answered Bram’s text about if I wanted to come over, because I know what today is… well, technically it was yesterday. I need to figure out what I want before we can sit down and talk about what we want.

Part of me feels like sex has been on the tip of my tongue since we started dating. We both wanted to take some time to be together without sex before we had this talk and now that we plan to talk about it, I have no idea… I feel like it’s been too soon, but I also feel like I’m more ready than I’ve ever been for anything in my life. It’s so hard to be around him right now. We can both feel how much we want more every time we kiss. It’s embarrassing and it’s something that I really, really hope we’ll outgrow soon.

At the same time, I’m painfully aware of how in love with Bram I am and I know it’s ridiculous, but if I’m bad, I don’t really expect him to have bad sex for the rest of his life. I mean, people break up over sex all the time, right? I can’t be one of those people and we’ve technically only been together a few weeks. My parents have made it crystal clear that they don’t think we’ve been together long enough to have sex.

But there are kids in my grade that have casual sex All. The. Freaking. Time. And we’ve practically been together a couple of months.

So I totally disagree with my parents that we haven’t been together long enough. And I’m sure that I’m ready. That doesn’t stop me from being scared for our first time together. More than once, I’ve thought about just getting it over with him and I feel like that’s probably not a healthy mindset to have sex with.

I guess I wait too long, because Bram walks into my bedroom at some point after lunch.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re avoiding me?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

I sigh. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m just tired. I know we have to talk… I know you wanted to talk last night,” I start to say.

“What are you so afraid of?” He asks curiously.

“What if I suck?” I mutter. I’m pretty quiet, so I don’t think he hears me.

Until I hear him whisper, “I don’t think I’d mind.”

It takes me a full minute to understand what he means and then I cannot stop laughing. It’s so unexpected. Almost as unexpected as him wanting sex for his birthday. In a weird way, I feel like that makes me feel so much better.

“So that’s what you want for your birthday?” I ask. He shrugs and looks down at his bed. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

He shrugs again and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like this. He looks embarrassed, but there’s also… desire, I think. Whatever is is, I’ve never seen it on his face before and it makes me want him so much more than I thought possible. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he says seriously. “So whenever you’re ready, just say the word.”

I don’t tell him that I’m ready, even though I am. Instead, I decide that we’ve talked enough and I lean over to kiss him. My door is wide open, because he didn’t think to close it when he walked in, so we don’t kiss for long.

One week later, I’m fidgeting nervously in my bedroom. Bram and I are having our first ‘sleepover’ at his house, because his mom isn’t going to be home until tomorrow. She’s been at some conference since Thursday and my heart pounds in my head everytime I think about his big, empty house. It stopped being a terrified pounding a few days ago and now it’s an exhilarated one. My card for Bram is sitting on my desk and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared of something in my entire life. I’d thought that he was being sweet and gentle when he told me that I could take as long as I need to figure this out, but now I’m pretty sure I know why he did that. It’s so he wouldn’t have to be the one to instigate sex. It takes the pressure off of him and puts it all on me. I can’t even be mad, because it’s kinda genius on his part.

I watch the minutes tick by. I told Bram I’d be at his place by 7 so that we could make dinner together. The idea of food makes me nauseous right now so I have no idea how I’m going to make it through an entire meal.

Finally, when I can’t delay it anymore, I put his card in my overnight bag and tell my parents I’m heading out. I try not to blush or give anything away, but I also can’t look my mom in the eye. We’d had a long talk when she found out Mrs. Greenfeld wouldn’t be here and while I didn’t come out and say it, I’m pretty sure she knows. I mean, I woke up this morning and there was a box of condoms on my desk. I think part of her is hoping that we won’t be able to do anything if we know she knows, but the jokes on her if that’s what she’s thinking, because something about kissing Bram makes me forget that the rest of the world exists.

When I get to his house, Bram’s entirely normal. I don’t know if he’s completely unaware of what we might be doing tonight or if he’s really just this calm about the idea of losing his virginity, but he doesn’t give away anything. It actually has this calming effect on me.

I don’t wait to give him his card. Once I drop off my bag in his bedroom, I pull out the card and hand it to him. He opens it and his eyes immediately zoom in on one particular part of it. I expected nothing less, but it gives me a sense of pleasure to see the excitement in his eyes.

“Only one?” He asks innocently.

I scoff at him. I had taped a condom on the inside with… something that probably belongs on the bathroom wall in a middle school if I’m being honest, but if his flustered expression is anything to go by, it got the job done. “How many times do you think you’re gonna get lucky?”

“As many as you’ll let me,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I expect to blush, and I do a little, but mostly I just return his excited grin and feel the excitement myself. Maybe this is what it means to be ready. I don’t tell him that I have more in my bag. He’ll realize that later. I’d read the first time could take under a minute and considering how close I’d gotten just from kissing, I felt like a minute would be stretching it, so I had come prepared.

I wake up in Bram’s arms the next morning. He’s still fast asleep, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I don’t think either of us expected last night. We’d been building sex up so much, but no one tells you just how close you feel to someone in that moment. It’s not just about the pleasure or the touching (though that’s really freaking great), it’s about being that close and vulnerable with someone. I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to act normal around people again.

We end up going out to breakfast and when we get back, his mom is in the kitchen. She waves him over and when we walk in, we see his dad sitting at the kitchen table. Bram stiffens and looks like he’s about to leave.

“Wait.” I block his exit and I know he’s pissed now, but I also know that we’ve talked about his dad about a thousand times since he got back from Savannah. More than anything, I know they need to talk and figure some things out. Bram needs his dad. Bram pretty much forced me to talk to my family after everything happened. Now it’s my turn to be that person for him.

“We need to talk,” his dad says seriously. I wonder if I should leave and let them talk as a family, but as if Bram can read my mind, he wraps his hand around my wrist and I know I’m not going anywhere.

“I think you said more than enough,” Bram says. People always think Bram’s the mature one in our relationship and while that’s usually true, he’s only mature when he’s not involved in something. With things like this, he tends to be much more defensive. It’s probably bad that I like that part of him, but it makes me feel like I’m not totally wrong for him.

“I think what Bram means is that he’s still upset about what happened in Savannah and while he’s eager to talk about it and move forward, he’s worried that what was said can’t be unsaid. He was hurt when you said his stepmom had no choice but to accept him.” Thank God that Bram talked to my mom about his dad, because I’m kinda quoting her verbatim.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like it did.” His dad stands up, but makes no other attempt to get closer to Bram. “When Rachel said what she said… I was upset. I didn’t mean to drop the news of the baby on you like that or to make you feel like she didn’t have a choice. What I meant was that we have a baby to think about, so we would work it out. And we did. She’s sorry.” Bram scoffs. Like I said, he can be really freaking immature and I know it’s bad timing, but that kinda makes me smile. “I’m serious. We’ve talked a lot about this and with her permission, there’s something about Rachel I want you to know. Something that I didn’t know until recently.” He waits a minute before he says, “she wasn’t angry that you’re gay, she was scared. Your mother and I were relatively untouched by the eighties. Rachel wasn’t.”

I don’t understand what’s going on, but if Bram’s shaky breath is anything to go on, he understood something. “Who did she lose?” He asks.

“Her uncle. You have to understand that was a really scary time, especially for the families of the people affected. According to her, it seemed like people were dropping left and right and that’s where her mind went.” My eyes widen as I realize what they’re talking about. I never really think about what it must have been like to be gay thirty years ago, because I think it’s so different now. People aren’t in denial about it and we have so many resources to keep ourselves safe. I never considered that some people might still feel the fear and loss from that. “She loves you a lot and even though she knows things are different with that now, it doesn’t change everything she went through. She was so young when her uncle died. All she was told was that it was because he was gay. She’s not going to forget that quickly, but she’s going to try. I’m not excusing away her behavior, but she knows she overreacted. She knows that she hurt you and she does feel really bad about that. She wants to give you your space and when you’re ready, she wants to make things right. She really does love you. We both do.” It's obvious to everyone that Bram’s still not happy. His dad sighs. “I get that you're upset. You get to be upset. And I can't make you forgive me or Rachel. I know I implied that she has no choice but to accept you and that’s really not how I meant it to sound. It’s not a matter of if she'll come around to it. You are my son. I've loved you longer and I love you more than I can even explain. Nothing can change that and Rachel knows that. She knows there's not even a choice between her and you. And there shouldn’t be a choice. I may not live close to you and I may not see you that often, but I will always choose you.” I look away uncomfortably. I wonder if I should leave or something, but I don't know how to go about that. 

Bram’s making a face like he’s trying his best not to cry and when his dad holds his arms open, he doesn’t hesitate. When Bram hugs his dad, I feel like I might actually explode. This had been a rollercoaster of a morning, of a couple of weeks really. But this feels like the win we needed.

Later that afternoon as we’re sitting on his bed before dinner, I turn to him. We’d talked about his stepmom in detail and he’s not really sure what he’s going to do. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to create more issues between his dad and his stepmom. But on the other hand, even if she was afraid, she still said those things. “Do you know what I think?”

“What?” He asks quietly.

“I think that you are a thinker. I think you are going to drive yourself crazy thinking about what the right or the wrong thing to do right now is,” I tell him slowly. “You’re dad came and apologized for what he said. That’s huge! Take the win and take some time. You don’t need to figure out what to do about your stepmom right now. You get to take as much time as you want for this. Because this gets to be your thing.”

He sighs. “I know you’re right.” 

“I usually am,” I say smugly. “I know you’re not happy about it. You want it to just be better and I want that for you too. But life sucks and it doesn’t work like that. So take your time, because this is big.”

Suddenly, he sits up and a small smile crosses his face. He looks me right in the eye and says, “that’s what she said.”

And I can’t even help myself. Finally. It finally happened. I lean over Bram and kiss him. I’m half laughing into the kiss, so it doesn’t last for long. He’s laughing too and pretty soon we’re laughing at each other laughing and I’m really struggling to do the breathing thing. Laying by his side and feeling the vibrations from his laughter really puts things into perspective for me. Can anything really be so bad if we can have little, carefree moments like this?

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or next week or in the next couple of years as we go away to college. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we start to go on more dates outside of the house. All I know is that I want Bram by my side for all of it.


End file.
